High Speed Dating
by OyHumbug
Summary: Jason and Elizabeth's best friends both use an online dating website to set them up. However, things don't go as planned when the tobe couple already know each other and don't get along.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: First, before anything else, this story has an alternative history. Jason was never in a car accident, but, in this tale, he was already Jason Morgan, Elizabeth never moved to Port Charles until college, so her past is altered, Emily is still a Bowen, never met the Quartermaines and never will, Brenda was never involved with Sonny or Jax and was Jason's best friend since childhood, and Lucy was not sucked into the supernatural vortex on the other side of Port Charles, so she's still Lucy, but Kevin is not around. I know that was brief, but more will be explained in the story, and, if you have questions, please feel free to ask. Secondly, my apologies in advance to **Niecy4CarL**o who provided me with my story's first line. I doubt this is the direction you wanted your line to be taken in, but I had to go where the creative muse took me, and I hope you can enjoy it anyway. Thanks, everyone!_

Charlynn

**High Speed Dating**

Chapter One

_What kind of fool am I that you so easily set me aside; does he want you with the pain that I do?_

Emily Bowen had always been able to find the beauty in her upstate New York, small town, but it was people like _PCLoveMatch2799: WannagetLucky? _that made her yearn for more people, more culture, more hotspots, more everything for Port Charles. Initially, she had set out to find her best friend a boyfriend, but the only thing the online dating service was giving her was doubt in humanity.

Six years before in a dorm room in need of both a good paint job and a thorough cleaning, her life had changed forever when she met one pint sized ball of trouble. Eighteen year old, brown haired, blue eyed Elizabeth Imogene Webber, her freshman roommate, had charged into her life from Colorado and never looked back. From the moment they bonded over hot chocolate, cheese fries, and pedicures, fate had been sealed, and they had become best friends, never looking back. However, though she had changed after graduation, putting her degree to use by getting a job as a social worker, seriously entering the dating scene, and putting a down payment on her first house, Elizabeth was stuck in her old routine, her old college life, her safe mode.

She still had the same job, working as the assistant to the one of a kind cosmetics entrepreneur Lucy Coe, the same apartment, a run down studio by the docks that was housed in a building which rarely had heat, was a magnet for criminal activity, and was one collapsed roof away from condemnation, and the same 'aim for the stars' dream of becoming an artist. Her best friend didn't date, claiming she had been there and done that, and that the only thing a man did to her life was complicate it and distract her from her art, she rarely socialized, and Emily was afraid she was on a non-stop trip to becoming an old maid. Determined that Elizabeth deserved more from life than a couple dozen cats, Emily had taken her friend's relationship future into her own hands, deciding to venture into the online dating scene in order to find her best friend's, as the site promised, soul mate. So far, the only things she had found surfing the net were psychos, losers, and those on their way to becoming mass murders, and _WannagetLucky? _was definitely the zenith of the nightmare-inducing, online suitors.

The problem was that the profiles were too vague. At the outset of a search, a person only had to provide their basic information: sex, age, race, occupation, personal status, a basic description of appearance, and a listing of interest and hobbies, so, Emily rationalized with herself, it was easy to be fooled into thinking a guy had potential. It was only after you initiated contact by emailing one of the bachelors and requesting further statistics and data on them that the scary characteristics and stalker-esque behavior became apparent. Since she had initiated contact with _PCLoveMatch2799_, her impression of him had taken a nosedive straight down into the belly of revulsion. In fact, as soon as Emily had learned his name on the dating service was _WannagetLucky?_, she knew asking for more information on him had been a mistake.

At first, she was merely annoyed by him; he was the dead fly in a five gallon bucket of ice cream, the unavoidable pothole that threatened to take off your muffler every time you were forced to drive over it, the grapalicious bubbleyum stuck to the bottle of your brand new, expensive, designer shoe, but that annoyance had steadily progressed into irritation, then anger, and then, finally, utter disgust and loathing. A week later, he was still sending her emails and messages, and, whenever he saw that she was in contact with another member's profile, he became jealous, territorial, and possessive, all signs that _WannagetLucky?'_s elevator did not quite make it to the top floor.

Sometimes, when she was in the mood to torment him, Emily would taunt _PCLoveMatch2799 _and mock him, but, with her free two month trial of the online dating service about to run out in less than two weeks, she knew it was time to get serious. Blocking him from sending her any more messages, she got to work, searching and weeding through the newly signed-up male members. The first one she found was too young, the second one too short, the third one had hobbies that were a little too kinky for her taste, and she was no prude, the fourth traveled with his job…a lot, and the fifth was contemplating a sex change. Where did these people hide themselves in her fair city? Just as she was about to sign off and call it a night, a brand new account flashed onto the screen, capturing her attention.

"Let's see what you have to offer," Emily said out loud to herself as she perused _PCLoveMatch9399_. "So, you're a male…and looking to remain one," she laughed. "That's a good start. What else?" Browsing down the page further, she read his description. "A 31 year old, Caucasian in the private security field, you've never been married and are currently single. You're 5'11'' with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a muscular build. In your spare time, you enjoy traveling, riding and fixing up your motorcycle, and playing pool."

Staring at the screen, the spirited young woman sat in contemplation. Where was his freak signal, the siren of alarm that should alert her to the fact that this man, _PCLoveMatch9399_, was a danger to her friend's mental, emotional, and physical well-being? Where were his flaws? After six weeks of using the online dating service, she had developed the ability to spot the warning signs that a man was not all that he was cracked up to be in his profile. They would either be too pretentious, too modest, or too ideal, saying and claiming exactly what every woman wanted to hear, but this man, this latest member, seemed honest and forthright, upfront, and, if his description was accurate, attractive and a perfect personality match for her best friend.

"Alright, 9399, let's tango," Emily announced, clicking on his profile. It was time to take the bull by the horns and ask the really tough questions, questions she already had prepared, and, apparently, luck was on her side that night, and he was online at the same time she was. They could instant message each other back and forth, accelerating the process. "Question number one," she said out loud as she typed, "what is your idea of the ideal first date?"

As soon as the question was sent, she sat in wait of the man's response, but, before it was sent, _PCLoveMatch9399_ sent his own question for her to answer: _If you had to describe yourself as one type of candy, what would it be and why?_

Emily couldn't help it; she chuckled. The inquiry was original, strange, and 100 Elizabeth. Thinking as her best friend, she set to work responding, talking to herself as she wrote. "Although I'm traditionally a chocolate girl, chocolate in the morning, chocolate in the evening, chocolate as a midnight snack, I wouldn't really associate my personality with the decadent aphrodisiac. Instead, I'd have to say that I'm a Boston Baked Bean, because I come in a small package, I'm sweet on the outside yet sassy on the inside, I'm traditional but still capable of fitting into today's society, and, most importantly, old men seem to love me." There, the auburn haired young woman mused to herself, that was complimentary but still modest and lighthearted. Clicking send, she waited for a response from the man whose screen name, now that they were communicating, was _JMHarley_, thinking that it sounded good with the name she had chosen for her best friend: _IHeartItaly_. The gentle tone of a bell singled that her new message had arrived.

_This is new to me, IHeartItaly, so I have to tell you that answering these questions online is still a little weird for me, but there are a few things you need to know about me first before we continue. I hate liars, I see no point in pretending to be someone you're not, and, because of those two things, I live a very simple, straightforward life, so a date with me would not be all romance, champagne, and caviar. Instead, I'd probably keep the first date friendly and without any pressure. Maybe we'd grab a quick dinner at this local diner I like. They make the best chili. Then, afterwards, I'd probably take you to my favorite bar where we could get drinks and either talk or play pool. To end the night, I'd want to take you for a ride on my motorcycle. That would be the true test as for whether or not we would have a second date. Afterwards, I'd take you home. Like I said, the date would be nothing special but, hopefully, fun for both of us. Do you have another question?_

"You're damn straight I have another question," Emily fairly shrieked in excitement. "Not only do you like Kelly's chili, but Liz would look great in leather pants." Giggling to herself, she turned to her list of prepared queries and typed out the second one, once again, talking to herself the entire time. "We had a date," she set the scene, "but then I came down with a terrible cold and had to cancel. What would your reaction be?" Sending the question off, Emily waited for both the response and the next inquiry into _IHeartItaly_'s personality from _JMHarley_. It came quickly which was a good thing, because she wasn't exactly the most patient person in the world. _Your apartment building is on fire. If you could only save three things, what would they be?_

"Oh, that question is not even fair," Emily snickered to herself. "Elizabeth is about the least materialistic person I know. However," she smiled wickedly, "who am I to turn down an easy question?" Cracking her fingers, she prepared to type. "Strangely enough, I've had to make mad dashes out of my apartment building before, so I'm familiar with this thought process. In case you're wondering, I don't live in the best area of town. Instead of listening to my very wise friend, I stay in my rundown apartment, because the rent's cheap, and it allows me to spend more of my money on art supplies, but that doesn't answer your question. The three things I would save are as follows: a red glass vase I got from Italy when I went there after I graduated from college, my portfolio, and the check I never cashed from the very first piece of artwork I ever sold professionally."

Letting the answer fly across cyberspace, Emily smiled to herself at how well she knew her best friend. There was no doubt in her mind that those were the three things Elizabeth would save from a burning building. It just saddened her that there was no one special who would name her best friend as something they would save on a similar list. Before she could delve too deeply into her thoughts, _JMHarley_'s response to her last inquiry came across her computer screen.

_Fortunately, I'm a pretty healthy guy. However, my best friend is prone to colds, so I have the cure down to an art. I'd bring you a variety of things to eat, chicken noodle soup, crackers, sherbet, orange juice, ginger ale, and tea, because, as I've learned throughout the years, tastes can vary from one cold to another. Then, I'd rent you all of your favorite movies, bring over a heating pad and all of my warmest blankets, and sit with you until you felt better. If you wanted to talk or spend time together doing things inside, we would; if you just wanted to be by yourself or sleep, I'd sit on the opposite side of the room and quietly read a book. Whatever you wanted would go, because, after all, you would be the patient._

Not only was _JMHarley_ compassionate and sweet, though those characteristics would probably not make him too happy, but, as Emily happily noticed, the man knew his grammar rules. Though that would be the last thing on her best friend's list of must-have traits in a man, it raised her opinion of him. Two hours later, as she signed off, she had a folder with the printout of her conversation with Elizabeth's new mystery man, a smile on her face, and a date to meet him for lunch the next afternoon. True, he thought he was meeting the real _IHeartItaly_, but there was no way she was going to send her best friend into the lion's den without taking _PCLoveMatch9399 _out for a test drive for her first. If she wanted Elizabeth to meet him after she did, Emily would just simply explain her reasoning for helping her friend out, and, if he was half the man she thought he was after talking to him for two hours, then he would accept her protectiveness, appreciate it, and beg for the chance to really meet his online match. Right?

Elizabeth Webber enjoyed the perks of her job: a generous salary, weekends off, and free makeup and perfume, but sometimes she really hated her boss. To say that Lucy Coe was a difficult woman to work for was definitely a favorable description for the overzealous, slightly insane, and, at times, hard to please businesswoman. Unfortunately for her, today was one of those days she wanted to attack her boss and rip out every one of her expensive, designer extensions. She thought she was the Deception owner's personal assistant, but, if she would have been told when she applied for the position during her senior year of college that her job would include both personal guinea pig duties when Lucy got a chemical brainstorm and emergency UPS responsibilities, she would have run away from the interview as quickly as her lithe, petite legs could have carried her. However, almost three years into her job and a month shy of her first showing in a real art gallery, Elizabeth was hesitant to give up the steady work and great benefits for the uncertainty life as a full-time artist could bring her.

So it was with a grimace on her adorable mouth, anger and bottled-up frustration flashing in her sapphire eyes, and a terribly wicked, itchy rash all over her face that Elizabeth stepped out of her environment friendly, compact car. Lucy had sent her out of the office that morning with a whole list of errands, the last of which was to deliver a set of new contracts for Deception's most famous model: Brenda Barrett. Unfortunately, the contracts were in her back seat on the passenger side, so, moving to the other side of the car, she pulled open the door, pushed the seat up, and started to scrounge around for the very important papers.

"You know," a deep, husky, masculine, and ultimately bored voice taunted from behind her, "whatever you're looking for would be easier to find if you didn't live out of the backseat of your car."

"For your information," she snapped, thoroughly baited, "all of this stuff is not mine." Twisting around, she attempted to stand up straight. There was no way she would face her adversary bent over. However, in her attempt to appear calm, cool, and collected, she, instead, smacked the back of her head against the edge of the car door, rattling her brain, giving herself an instant headache, and making her hair fly out of its delicate twist. "Son of a monkey's uncle," she cursed, finally straightening her body and rubbing the sore spot on the back of her head. "Look what you made me do," she yelled at the man standing across from her. "Do you always go around attacking innocent women?"

"I never touched you; I never even raised my voice to you. I simply made an observation."

"Yeah, an observation laced with scorn, judgment, and insult," Elizabeth returned with an icy glare. Her sparring partner was an imposing figure. Six foot of muscle stood across from her, legs spread and arms crossed over his chest. His face was immovable, stoic, his eyes a wall of blue steel, his mouth indiscernible behind his heavy beard and mustache. Even his clothes screamed 'don't mess with me,' the leather jacket, black t-shirt, worn blue jeans, and dependable motorcycle boots a uniform of unapproachable strength. "Look," she finally spoke again after appraising him, "I'm in no mood to deal with you, so just let me drop off these papers for Miss Barrett, and I'll be on my way."

Holding out his hand, the guard decreed, "I'll take those," but Elizabeth refused to hand the contracts over.

"The last time I saw a picture of Miss Barrett, she looked a hell of a lot prettier than you, so back off, Butch, and get out of my way." With her chin in the air and a sure step, she attempted to approach the front door. With her back turned on the man behind her, Elizabeth laughed at her own words. Butch seemed like the perfect name for such the egotistical, rude buffoon of a Neanderthal harassing her. Three steps away from him though, her smile fell as soon as she heard the crunch of concrete beneath his boots. Obviously, he wasn't giving up, and she was in no mood to appease him.

"Miss Barrett is not home," the guard announced while grabbing her elbow and harshly turning her around to face him, "and, for the record," he added, "the name's Jason."

"Bully for you," Elizabeth taunted. "I see your parents deemed you worthy of a name before they left you to be raised by a pack of wolves. Now," she seethed, gritting her teeth, "will you kindly point me in the direction of Miss Barrett's personal secretary so I can give her these contracts."

"You are not setting one foot further onto this property until you tell me who you work for and give me some form of identification so I can run a quick background check on you."

"This isn't Pennsylvania Avenue, and you're not the secret service, so back off, buddy," Elizabeth stated, pulling her arm free of Jason's vice like grip. "I'm not a terrorist or some crazed stalker. I simply work for Miss Coe, and I need to leave these papers from her for Miss Barrett." Putting her hands on her hips, she asked sweetly, "was that easy enough for you to understand, or do you need pictures, too?"

"You know, for someone who works for a cosmetics mogul, your face is a mess," he taunted her, mimicking her stance. "That's proof enough for me not to believe a word you say."

"It's called an allergic reaction, jackass! Last night, while she was sleeping, Lucy came up with this new idea for a face cream, and, this morning, after she finished mixing it up, she wanted to try it out on me, because I didn't have any makeup on. After working with her for three years, I've realized resistance is futile, and it's easier to just let her do what she wants instead of fighting her. However, something in the new lotion caused me to break out in hives, so I'm sorry if I don't meet your high beauty standards, but not all of us get to walk around with a dead animal plastered across our face like you."

"You talk a lot, don't you?" When she simply rolled her eyes at his observance, Jason continued. "They say that's a sign that someone's trying to hide something. What are you hiding, Miss…."

"Webber," she answered, not offering her hand to him. "Elizabeth Webber. Do you need me to spell it for you, or do you think you can handle that oh so complicated name?"

"I think I've got it," the guard grinned at her, his smile anything but friendly or warm, "but thanks. Now, like I asked, Miss Webber, what are you hiding?"

"Sigmund," she shouted, making his brows crease in confusion. However, Elizabeth didn't stick around long enough to see his reaction. Instead, she took off across the driveway, waving her arms, yelling and screeching as loud as she could, and running in circles. "Sigmund Balthazar Coe get your little fanny back here! Your Mommy is going to be very mad at you…and me…if we get back and you've got your newly cleaned feathers dirty!"

"What….or should I say who," Jason bellowed, spinning around to face her, "are you screaming at?"

"Sigmund," Elizabeth answered as if it was the most reasonable response in the world, pointing towards a large, decorative garden to the side of the driveway where snow was piled high up against sculpted bushes and evergreen trees, "Lucy's pet duck. I just picked him up from the groomer's, and if there is a single feather out of place when I get him home, I could very well lose my job."

She started off towards the garden with Jason following her. "Over Easter dinner," he asked, chuckling to himself, "you would get fired over that?"

"Sigmund is Lucy's prized possession, her best friend," the upset brunette explained. "She would risk her life to protect him." Huffing in frustration, she stomped her high heeled boot down harshly. "Now would you quit standing there asking me stupid questions and help me. He's underneath that spruce tree, so you're going to have to crawl in and get him out. Don't worry though," she assured him, "he's had all his vaccinations, and his quack is worse than his bite."

"It's not my damn duck," he protested. "You get him."

"Are you crazy," Elizabeth countered, "I'm in a skirt! If I crawl through those bushes and the snow, I'll tear up my knees, and I'll be freezing for the rest of the day. You're the guard," she pointed out, "protect me."

"If I do this for you," he questioned, "will you give me those contracts and leave?"

"How do I know that they'll get to Miss Barrett?"

"I work for Brenda; we're friends," Jason pointed out. "I won't do anything to jeopardize her career, and her job with Deception is important to her. You have my word I'll hand her the papers as soon as she gets home from her lunch date."

"Fine," she agreed, motioning towards the garden, "now hurry. I do not need Sigmund getting a cold. The last time that happened," she grumbled underneath her breath, despite the fact that Jason was already crawling through the snow, "I had to feed him soup through an eyedropper for a week. I'm so not doing that again."

Five minutes later, contracts in hand, Jason slammed her car door shut after safely depositing the duck into the back seat. "Do me a favor," he snapped at Elizabeth before she started the car. "Never, under any circumstances, come back here again."

"Don't worry," she assured him, "I'd rather gargle glass." Without a backwards glance, she peeled out of the driveway, kicking up bits of gravel from her spinning tires onto the fuming man behind her. She had never met such an infuriatingly impossible man before, and she hoped she never saw again….ever!

The Port Charles Grill was modestly full for a Wednesday afternoon, but, luckily, Emily Bowen already knew which table she was meeting _PCLoveMatch9399: JMHarley_ at. However, as she entered the dining room and made her way towards the corner booth, a confused frown puckered her brow and brought out wrinkles too deep for her early age.

"You are not short, brunette, or blue eyed," the person seated across from her stated, their large, brown eyes snapping with thinly veiled annoyance.

"And you're not a man!"

"Well, thank god for small favors," the cheeky, famous brunette quipped, standing up and offering the woman across from her her hand. "Brenda Barrett."

"Emily Bowen," the auburn haired woman introduced herself as well. "I'm here representing _IHeartItaly_, and I assume you speak for _JMHarley_?"

"Can we please use their real names," Brenda asked, rolling her eyes. "Jason would kill me if he knew I let anyone refer to him by an online nickname.

"Sure," the younger woman agreed, taking a seat. "My best friend's name is Elizabeth. I'm doing this for her."

"As I am for Jason."

"Can I ask you something," Emily queried, suddenly worried. "Don't get me wrong, everything you've told me so far about your friend makes him sound great, but why exactly does he need a dating service to find a girlfriend?"

"He says his life is fine without a significant other, that he doesn't have the time or the patience to date," Brenda answered, shrugging her shoulders to show that she didn't agree with her best friend's opinion. "I think it's just that he's too stubborn to admit that he's lonely. What about your friend," she turned the question around. "Why does Elizabeth need an online dating service?"

"For basically the same reasons," Emily responded, "but Elizabeth is also too wrapped up in her artwork to venture out of her apartment on a Friday night. I swear that girl does nothing but eat, sleep, work, and paint, but, if she met someone she liked and just lived a little bit, I'm sure romance could be very inspiring for her painting."

"Inspiring is one way to put it," the brunette laughed, taking a sip of her water before continuing. "However, all joking aside, how are we going to do this; how are we going to get them to agree to meet each other if they're both so willful?"

"What if we don't really tell them," the younger woman suggested wickedly. "Of course, they're going to have to meet each other somehow, but, if I know Elizabeth and I do, she'll never agree to go out with a man I found for her online. We need to somehow make her feel obligated to meet him."

"Like a favor," Brenda supplied helpfully. Sighing, she stated, "I think that's the only way I'll get Jason to agree to meet her, too."

"But the question is where?"

"Oh, that's the easy part," the older woman waved off Emily's concerns. "I got this small role in a film, and, to celebrate, I'm throwing this Old Hollywood themed party. All we have to do is get them both there and arrange it so that they're each others dates."

Thinking quickly, the auburn haired woman asked, "you model for Deception, don't you, so you know Lucy Coe?"

"Know her," Brenda countered, "we're friends. She's already RSVP'd for the party. Why?"

"Well, Elizabeth works for Lucy," Emily told her, "and I know if we let Lucy in on the plan, she'd gladly help us trick Elizabeth into attending the party. She's always trying to get her to go out more, and, if nothing else, Lucy is a romantic at heart."

"She'll just hate that she didn't come up with it first," the older woman chuckled at the thought of her employer's expression when finding out about the ruse she was helping with. "As for Jason, leave him to me. I've mastered the art of guilting him into doing anything I want him to. Trust me, by the time I'm done shaming him, he'll be putty in my hands."

"Well," the auburn haired woman announced, "that was much easier than I thought it would be. "Now, we'll just have to sit back and watch all our hard work pay off."

"Speaking of which, why don't you give me your address so I can mail you an invite," Brenda suggested. "You deserve to be there, too, and, if you need help getting a costume at the last minute, just let me know. We'll exchange information after lunch."

"Lunch," Emily asked, slightly confused.

"Of course, lunch," the brunette said decisively. "Just because our business is finished does not mean we're not going to eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Plus, we have something to celebrate."

"Don't you think it's a little bit premature for that?"

"Nonsense," the older woman argued. "Between the two of us and Lucy, Jason and Elizabeth do not stand a chance. They're going to be head over heals for each other before the orchestra even finishes tuning up their instruments. They're perfect for each other."

"You're right," Emily agreed with her, smiling widely. "I'm just being paranoid. Of course, this is going to work, and, of course, we should celebrate." With a gleeful laugh, she exclaimed, "break out the bubbly! After all," she quipped with a wink, "we might as well start tasting things for the wedding preparations. This is going to be too easy."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Even Elizabeth had to admit that there was something to be said for the high society, elite parties Lucy frequented, for, even though she had no ambition to travel in her boss' social circles or be invited to the teas, fetes, and balls the privileged and influential of Port Charles felt the need to throw incessantly for the most tedious, self-congratulatory reasons, the prep time Lucy put into getting ready for such an event gave her the opportunity to relax at work, avoid her boss, and disregard her duties. Instead of errands to run, meetings to attend, and obligations as her employer's personal test subject to perform, as soon as Elizabeth made sure the fashion expert, hair stylist, makeup artist, manicurist, pedicurist, masseuse, and fortune teller, the complete entourage required to prepare her boss for any formal gathering, had arrived, she was free to put her feet up, sit back in her chair, and take a deep breath. In essence, on the days when a party would take up Lucy's evening, Elizabeth got paid for doing little or no work.

Just as she was about to close her eyes and let the blissful relief of an afternoon nap take over her exhausted, petite frame, the soft and comfortable confines of the couch she was curled into too relaxing to deny, the door that led to Lucy's personal dressing room flew open and the agitated, high strung brunette was flying across the room, hair and silk robe streaming wildly behind her. Elizabeth instantly sat up, attempting to clear the sleep from her eyes in order to focus upon her boss. She knew the look etched upon the older woman's face all too well; it was desperation, sympathy, and, thrown in for good measure, a glimmer of mischief, a lethal combination with anyone, but, with Lucy, it spelled total and utter annihilation of Elizabeth's will and resolve.

"Oh, thank the stars, Miss Cleo, and Jimmy Choo that you're still here," the harried brunette gushed as she slid her lithe body into a regal recline beside Elizabeth's position on the couch. "I have never needed you so much in my life."

Before the younger woman could stand up, her employer's hand reached out and grasped her fingers tightly, keeping her on the couch and at the mercy of Lucy's whims. Leveling a clear, capable eye on her boss, Elizabeth asked in a steady voice meant to reassure and calm, "what happened, Miss Coe? Is it your costume, because I brought my sewing kit with me, and, if you need me to, I can repair any rip or tear as long as it's not too structurally significant." Instead of answering, her high strung boss simply shook her head in a negative manner meant to dismiss her concerns about the Marilyn Monroe inspired dress the older woman would be wearing that evening. "Well, if it's not your costume, what's wrong? Did the heel on one of your shoes break? Is there something wrong with Sigmund? Oh, no," she gasped, sudden realization striking the petite brunette. "Did the fortune teller see something bad in her tarot cards, because, if so, I have your personal acupuncturist, paranormal expert, and gypsy on speed dial?"

"It's nothing like that," Lucy rushed to reassure her. "Don't even think such terrible things. It's tempting fate." Taking a deep breath, she met her assistant's gaze with hopeful eyes. "This is about you….and the favor I need you to do for me."

Elizabeth released a sigh of relief. "If that's all it is," she stood up and moved to gather her things, "just let me know where it is I have to go, and I'll run whatever errand you need before I head home for the evening."

"It's not an errand. It's much more important than that."

"Okay," the younger woman agreed readily. "So then I take it you need me to finish up some of your work for you. Do you need me to sit in on a conference call for you or is it a meeting you forgot you had scheduled?"

"This favor has nothing to do with business," the taller brunette clarified. "It's more of a personal nature."

Elizabeth thought for a moment before replying. "Did you forget to pick up a gift for someone's birthday, because I normally mark all the important dates, events, and holidays in my calendar, and, as far as my notes go, you haven't missed anything?"

"Why don't you take a seat, sweetie," Lucy instructed, motioning towards the couch cushion beside her. "What I'm about to ask of you is no simple act of help. This is major. That's why I'm so worked up."

"Alright," the younger woman agreed, sitting down beside her employer, "you're scaring me, Miss Coe."

"I just got a call from Brenda Barrett…."

"You've got to be kidding," the blue eyed pixie of an assistant exploded in a fit of rage, interrupting her boss, "that no good, self-important, narcissistic, uncouth boor double crossed me! He never gave her those contracts I dropped off! Why, the next time I see him," she seethed, fisting her tiny hands in anger and imagined revenge plots, "he better have a doctor waiting at his side, because, by the time I'm finished shoving my black leather, stiletto boots so far up his…."

"Elizabeth, please," Lucy begged, silencing her employee, "there's no need to resort to violence. What did the shoe ever do to you? Trust me, it does not deserve that fate, but that's beside the point. First of all, Brenda did get the contracts, so let's forget those plans of torture, shall we, that you were dreaming up for whoever was stupid enough to wrongly cross your path on a bad hair day. Secondly, I need you to focus for me." As her boss waited for her to relax, Elizabeth had to stifle a laugh that the manic woman across from her was the one instructing her to concentrate. It was quite the role reversal. "Now, the reason Brenda called was because she was in a slight panic. She has a friend who suddenly decided to attend the party this evening, but he doesn't have a date. Caught up in the moment and wanting to ease her troubles, I might have, maybe, perhaps, slightly volunteered your services."

"My services," the younger woman questioned, confused. However, as the gleam in Lucy's eyes increased from hopeful to optimistic and expectant, she knew exactly what her boss was asking of her. "No way, absolutely not," she refused, once again retreating from the sofa and striding distractedly across the room. "This is ridiculous, Miss Coe," she complained. "The party's theme might be 'Old Hollywood Glamour,' but it's not 1939. It's perfectly acceptable for a man to go stag to a party."

"Maybe in your world it is," the older woman countered. The tone of her voice made it obvious she disagreed with her employee's modern minded statement. "But, if a man of prestige, power, and money goes to a party on his own in my circle, it means one of two things, he's either going bankrupt or he will soon be coming out of the closet, and neither are good for his company's bottom line or his little black book."

"Even if I bought into that line of nonsense, I still couldn't go to the party," Elizabeth continued to argue. "I have plans with Emily tonight."

"Oh, you must be mistaken," Lucy ignored the blatant lie, offering her assistant an excuse for the falsehood, "because I know for a fact that Emily will be in attendance tonight at Brenda's party."

Presenting a contrite smile, the younger woman continued with the story they both knew to be fictitious just to protect the illusion of decorum her employer strived for even if it was hypocritical and insincere. "You're right; our plans must be for next weekend, but, that aside, I still can't attend the party, Miss Coe. It's a costume party, and I have nothing to wear."

"That's where you're wrong," the older woman confided with a wink, uncurling her legs to stand from the settee. Disappearing into her dressing room, she re-emerged moments later with a garment bag. "I had two costumes designed just in case something went wrong," she explained, unzipping the carrier to reveal the outfit she intended her young employee to wear, "and I think this one will be just perfect for you and your figure."

"Lucy," Elizabeth gasped, all sense of propriety forgotten. "That's a playboy bunny costume!"

"I know," the older woman squealed with excitement. "Isn't it just adorable?!" Motioning for her assistant to follow her, she turned around and proceeded into the dressing room, talking a mile a minute and ignoring the look of abject horror flashing through the younger woman's eyes. "And the best thing is," the taller brunette finished with a pleased sigh, "it even has a tail!"

"Hello, is anyone here," Jason called out into the empty receptionist room at Deception. If this was the way Lucy Coe ran her business, it was suddenly obvious to him why she would hire such an incompetent personal assistant. "This is just perfect," he complained under his breath, glaring at the vacant desk before him. Here he was waiting to drop off the contracts Brenda had signed so that he could go home and have a night off, and no one was there to receive them. While his friend and employer would throw her ridiculous party, he would let the men under him take care of the security for the evening, and he would do absolutely nothing that had anything to do with high society, finger food, champagne, or waltzing. In fact, if Jason had his way, his night would consist of nothing but riding his bike, playing pool, and, perhaps, finding himself a willing bed partner for the evening, one that he could sleep with and then forget and never see again in the morning. It would be perfect, it would be peaceful, and it would be the complete opposite of what Brenda would want him to do.

"Excuse me," a voice behind him, a voice he only too well recognized asked, "what do you think you're doing in here? This office is closed this afternoon which means that you're trespassing and I'm going to have to call security."

"Go ahead and call them, Miss Webber," he taunted as he turned around, "and let's see if the jelly donut eating, game show watching, sorry excuse for security personnel your boss employs would be able to do a damn thing to get me off the premises besides quiver in their boots and, perhaps, wet their pants."

"You," the petite woman scoffed, leveling him with the darkest glower he had earned since their first encounter. He had to hold back a fit of laughter, because, with the beauty mask she wore, her glare only made her look like a disgruntled cartoon Martian. "Why are you here besides to annoy me and make this the official worst day of my life?"

"I see we're as melodramatic as before," he joked, "and that you and your boss are busy playing beauty shop again. Don't you get sick of being her potbellied pig?"

"It's guinea pig, you moron," Elizabeth returned snidely. "You really are all brawn and no brains, aren't you?"

"What, have you been checking me out," the bodyguard goaded her. "And, for your information, I knew exactly what I was saying."

"You're an ass!"

"And you're a bitch who can't do her job," Jason criticized. "Tell me, did you ever tell Lucy about Sinbad's little excursion around Miss Barrett's garden?"

"It's Sigmund," she snapped, taking a threatening step closer to him and lowering her voice, "and, to be frank, it's none of your damn business what I do or do not tell my boss." Sighing in exasperation, she placed her hands on her hips. "Now answer my original question. Why are you here?"

"Brenda wanted me to drop these off," he responded, shoving the contracts into her hands. "Try to give them to your employer before you melt all over them," he mocked, motioning towards the softening mask on her face.

"Thanks for the advice," she bit out harshly, "but I think it's time for you to leave now. I, for one, have seen enough of you to last me a lifetime."

"Same here, sweetheart," he barked, "same here."

"Plus," Elizabeth continued as if she never heard his retort, "I actually have things to do with my life besides managing to wear enough leather to make the cow an endangered species. Leave now, Mr. Morgan."

Turning on his heel, he strode confidently away, punching the down button for the elevator. "I'm already gone."

"Why hello there, best friend," Brenda greeted her scowling bodyguard upon his return from Deception. She had been waiting in his house, a small cottage he inhabited on her property, in the dark so as not to alert him to her presence. Already dressed in her costume for the party that evening, she sat reclining on the couch, reading a magazine and epitomizing the essence of the character she was embodying: Cleopatra. "My, my, aren't you looking especially fit and intimidating today. What happened? Did you get to pull your gun on someone this afternoon?"

"What are you doing here, Brenda," he asked her, his tone displaying his lack of patience. "I'm in no mood to play your games, so why don't you just get to the point. You have a party to host, and I have the night off. What do you want?"

"It's nothing really," the brunette dismissed with a wave of her bejeweled hand.

"No, it's something," he argued, "because you're complimenting me in your own patronizing, bothersome way." Eyeing her closely, Jason tried to figure out exactly what she was up to. "You're going to ask me for a favor."

Jumping up in surprise, she exclaimed, "how do you know that?"

"Because you're easy to read, Barrett; you don't disguise your emotions or your intentions. Whenever you need something," he waved his hand in a distracted manner towards her petite frame, "you always make it seem like you're the one who's going to be helping me, you play off how big of an imposition you're about to unload upon me, and you get this wicked gleam of trouble in your eyes."

"I do no such thing," she argued with him, tossing the magazine aside, one which he noticed was one she had brought with her, because there was no way he'd keep a copy of _Cosmo_ in his house. "And I don't need a favor," she continued to claim her innocence. "I'm simply here to assist a friend of a friend. She has a problem that has to be…alleviated, and, because my associate knew of my benevolent nature, she came straight to me in the hope that I could prevent the disaster that is about to occur."

"What," he picked on his friend, "is someone going to break a nail? Let's call in the supermodel to save the day."

"You don't have to be so flip," she chastised him. "Not all of us live such important lives like you do." Her tone let Jason know she meant the exact opposite. Taking a deep breath, Brenda attempted to calm herself, and she turned to face the difficult man across from her, prepared to lay her cards out on the table. "Listen, let's be frank."

"This will be a first," he quipped, rolling his eyes at the petite, determined woman standing on the other side of his living room.

"My friend," the brunette spoke as if she never heard his taunting comment, "is also a colleague, and it would be both personally and professionally advantageous to me if I helped her. That's where you come in."

Sighing dejectedly, Jason collapsed into his recliner and roughly scrubbed his face. "I'm listening."

"This employee…"

"I thought you said you were helping out a friend of a friend," he interjected.

"If you would just let me finish my sentence before you interrupted me, you wouldn't be confused," she returned testily. "Anyway, yes, the woman I'm speaking of is both an employee and a friend of my business associate, and she suddenly finds herself in need of a date for tonight."

"Nice try, Brenda, but the Middle East would have to declare lasting peace before I would ever escort someone to any party of yours, especially a woman who isn't capable of finding her own date. What do I look like to you," he challenged her, "a man who dates other people's charity cases?"

"She's not a charity case," the younger woman snapped, glaring at her friend. "She didn't know she was coming to the party until the last minute, and, as for you dating her, who said anything about this being a date? You'd merely be her escort, a little small talk, a few trips around the dance floor, and you might have to sit beside her at dinner, that's it. Call the pope," she mocked, "because after that great sacrifice, Jason should be up for sainthood."

"I would have to agree to help you first."

"Jason," Brenda whined, stomping her foot in exasperation, "please do this for me. You know that if you don't say yes, I'm going to stay out here all night and continue to harass you, and then I'd miss my own party, embarrass myself, and become a permanent outcast in Port Charles. You'd be the only friend I'd have left which means we'd be together 24/7, 365 days a year."

"Well, at least I'd have one day off every four years," he pointed out sarcastically, earning himself a slap to the back of his head.

"Morgan," his irritated employer ordered, "you are doing this for me."

"I am doing this for you," he agreed dejectedly, standing up and making his way towards his bedroom to get dressed.

"And there's just one more thing."

"Don't push your luck, Barrett," he threatened her, turning around to face his best friend.

"About that badge of stubbornness on your face that you call a personal fashion choice," she motioned towards his beard and mustache, "it has to go."

"No."

"You, me, and going lingerie shopping together," she taunted him with a smirk, knowing her coercion of continuous bonding time would push him over the edge. "You, me, and horse back riding. You, me, and bikini waxes…."

"Fine!"

The slamming of his bathroom door alerted Brenda to the fact that their conversation was over, but it also told her that she had annoyed her bodyguard into submission. Dusting off an imaginary piece of lint from her shoulder, she chuckled to herself in a congratulatory manner. Jason had never stood a chance.

"This has got to be the most embarrassing night of my life," Elizabeth grumbled to herself under her breath as she slowly made her way through the throngs of people inhabiting the ballroom of the Port Charles hotel. Brenda Barrett had out done herself in regards to the guest list. Every person within a five hundred mile radius of their little, upstate New York hamlet with a bank account statement ending in several zeros on the left hand side of the decimal point was in attendance, and she was having a hard time weaving through the masses of richly adorned, heavily perfumed, and expertly coifed men and women. "I'm basically wearing a glorified piece of underwear," she groused, skittering away from an already intoxicated, wealthy gentleman's hand as he tried to pinch her tail. "My hair and makeup look like Lady Marmalade thanks to Lucy's supposed team of beauty experts, and my shoes scream stripper pole and one dollar bills. To make matters worse, she tells me I'm supposed to meet this mystery date on the balcony, as if our arranged rendezvous is something from a tawdry romance novel instead of straight out of page six's condescending, disdainful gossip column." Finally reaching the balcony, she moved to lean against the highly ornate railing and sighed in relief as the fresh night air enveloped her, never noticing the sulking male figure hiding behind her. Not even the crisp nature of the fall night or the goosebumps which immediately arose on her soft flesh could dispel her relief from escaping from the confines of the ballroom.

"Do you always talk to yourself?"

Gasping in shock, she whirled around to face the man behind her, the perilous heels of her shoes making her stumble slightly as her petite hand clutched nervously at her corset created voluptuous décolleté. "Don't do that," she instructed, taking as deep of a breath as her outfit would allow in order to quell her surprise. "You could give a girl a heart attack sneaking up on her like that."

"Or at least make her faint," he teased, making a reference to the consequences of wearing stays as he eyed her costume. Stepping out from the shadows, he advanced towards her. "As for sneaking up on you, I was out here first. I take it you're the friend of Brenda's friend whom I'm supposed to escort tonight?"

"I guess you could put it that way," she answered, slightly confused, "but I really think it's me who's here to help you out. After all," she insisted, "I'm not the one who needed a date at the last minute."

"Of course you did," the man returned. "Why else would I be here?"

"Because you're Miss Barrett's friend," Elizabeth stated as if it was obvious, "and I'm here because you were too much of a coward to go to a social event without a date."

She stood there calmly, letting the stranger across from her observe her closely. Although she would never admit it, she was using the lull in their conversation to access him as well, and, despite his wanting personality, she didn't understand why the man hadn't been able to find his own date. He was tall and athletic with broad shoulders and a chest meant for a woman to rest her head against when dancing with him, he had the most amazing blue eyes, glacier blue that belied a hint of his frosty personality but also a passion for life, a dry sense of humor, and a tendency to protect those he cared for, eyes that she, for some reason, found strangely familiar, he was handsome, and his voice oozed confidence and sex appeal. It was a voice Elizabeth was sure she had heard before, but his whispered words and low tone made it hard to place. Perhaps the night wasn't going to be a total waste after all, she realized to herself with a small, pleasant smile. If nothing else, she would be able to figure out just where exactly she had met the man standing in front of her and then, once she did that, she would be able to silently yell at herself for ever letting him disappear without making an unforgettable memory with him.

Finally, he broke the silence. "It seems as if we've been set up. You were told you had to come tonight to be my date, and I'm here as yours." Curling his fist in frustration, he fumed, "You're going to regret this Brenda!" He went to walk away, but the gasp of revulsion behind him had the man slowing and turning back around to face his blind date.

"You're you!"

"Great assessment there, midget," he taunted.

"Shut up, Morgan," Elizabeth snapped. "What the hell happened to your pet groundhog that lived on your face, and, more importantly," she asked, stalking towards him with a menacingly lethal pace, "why the hell would Miss Barrett ever let you mingle with polite society?"

"You know what, Webber," Jason returned hostilely, her harsh words jarring his recollection, "I've had just about enough of your smart mouth, so why don't you take you and your cheap, indecent costume and get the hell away from me before someone figures out that you're in desperate need of being put down."

He went to leave the balcony, but she followed after him. "Obviously, I didn't know it was you, because you shaved, but why didn't you notice me?"

"It's a little hard without red blotches or green gunk covering your face!"

"This is just perfect," Elizabeth ranted, barely suppressing an irritated scream. "Could this night get any worse?"

"If I have to spend one more minute in your presence, it will," he returned with a snarl. "Look," Jason instructed, "this place is big enough for the two of us to disappear into the crowd and not have to see each other. I'm going this way," he motioned towards the right, "and you go the other way."

"Gladly," she huffed, but, before she could do just that, he was gone and headed towards the bar where she watched him pick up a bottle of whisky, ignore the bartender's offer of a glass, and melt into the glittering horde of socialites.

"Oh, there you are," Lucy twittered animated as she looped her arm through her young assistant's. "Have you found your gorgeous date yet?"

"I did," the petite brunette answered, freeing her arm from her employer's grasp, "and he's the most insufferable, arrogant, nauseating, self-centered, vexing, odious jerk I have ever met in my entire life!"

"So you like him," the older woman mused while taking a sip of her champagne. "No woman ever says such terrible things about a man without harboring either a secret crush or a major attraction towards him."

"No, Lucy, I don't like him. In fact," the assistant continued without taking a breath, "the only thing I harbor towards him is a desire to cut off his 'you know what' and then feed it through a meat grinder while he watches. Then, and only then," she added, "will I scratch out his eyes, let loose a swarm of mosquitoes on his aching, vulnerable body, and watch him suffer a slow, agonizing, painful death while he bleeds to death."

"Whoa, Liz," the taller woman laughed, "I had no idea you were such a bad girl. That's quite kinky."

"Ugh, you're not getting it," Elizabeth yelled, stomping her foot in frustration. "But it doesn't matter," she calmed herself down, "because I'm leaving. Tell Brenda thanks but no thanks. She can keep her bigoted bodyguard for herself."

"Wait," Lucy yelled, stopping the younger woman's hasty exit. "You can't leave." When her assistant merely watched her, waiting for an explanation, she continued. "You know as well as I do that I can't go home without someone to walk me to my door and make sure I get there safely, and, because you insisted on driving us, my chauffeur has the night off."

"Take a cab."

"Ew! I can't take public transportation," the older woman protested with a lock of disgust on her face. "Face it, you're stuck here until I'm good and ready to leave."

"Whatever," Elizabeth relented, throwing her arms up in submission. "When you're ready to go, I'll be girl dressed like a tramp drowning herself in a bottle of tequila. Enjoy your party."

With a weary sigh, she walked away from her boss and made it to the bar, picking up the bottle of her preferred alcohol, tequila as she had warned Lucy, and weaving her way through the crowd until she found the fire exit and the door which would take her to the roof. What she needed was to get away from her entire evening, and the only way she knew how to do that was with fresh air and liquor. Her ascent to the roof was slow, hampered by the ridiculous heels she was wearing, but, by the time she got there, the door was propped open as if it was personally inviting her to stay a while. Removing the wedge of wood keeping it in place, she let it drift shut, but, before she could smile in celebration of her self-liberation, a voice she had never wanted to hear again assaulted her ears.

"Don't close that door," Jason yelled at her, running across the roof to grab a hold of the shutting entrance, but he was too late.

"Why not?"

"Because it locks automatically," he answered in a growl of exasperation. "Thanks a lot, genius," he mocked. "You just got us trapped up here….together."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Oh no," Elizabeth bemoaned, slowly stepping away from the locked emergency exit. "This is so not good."

"Wow, did you think of that all on your own?" Ridiculing her, Jason continued, "maybe that was the perfect costume for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he pointed out with a smirk, "if the tail fits…"

"Who the hell asked you," she snapped, turning around to face him, eyes blazing. "Furthermore, couldn't you have warned me a little bit sooner about the door? It wasn't as if I was purposely trying to avoid detection or to move covertly. If you would have just said something sooner, this would not be happening."

"Sorry, Shorty," his words lacked sincerity, "but I wasn't paying much attention. I know this concept might be hard for you to grasp, but let's give it a shot anyway. Sometimes people have things on their mind that don't revolve around you. I was lost in thought and didn't hear you approach."

"Aren't you supposed to be a bodyguard," the pixy sized brunette taunted him, "and aren't bodyguards always supposed to be aware of what's going on around them? You better hope Brenda doesn't hear about this, because she just might decide to fire your inept ass."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," Jason questioned her, "to have your foolhardy actions cause me to lose my job?"

"How was I supposed to know that the door locks automatically from the inside?"

"It's a fire escape. How didn't you know that?"

"Do I look like I hang out in burning buildings," she returned acerbically. "You already know that I'm not a fireman, so tell me, Mr. Morgan, what in my life would make me privy to the inner workings of fire escapes?"

"Under any other circumstances," the guard stated confidently, "I would presume common sense, but I think we both know that you're lacking in that area." She scoffed at his comment, turned her back on him, and paced across the wide roof so that they were standing on opposite sides. "Take for instance your outfit," he cited the skimpy costume as an example. "Why would you ever go outside on a cold night wearing so little without a coat?"

"I have my reasons," Elizabeth retorted, positioning her hands on her angled hips to strike an aggressive stance, "but, frankly, they're none of your concern."

"We're going to be stuck up her for a while," he stated dejectedly, "perhaps even all night, so why don't you just humor me."

She watched him for a long moment, sizing him up, before responding. "Fine, you really want to know?"

"I think this is becoming slightly redundant, Webber, but, yes, call it curiosity."

"Well, in that case, let's hope it kills not only cats but rats as well." Her spiteful comment only earned her a frustrated grimace from the annoyed man standing across from her. With a roll of her sparkling blue eyes, she confessed, "I came up here without a coat on, because I was so angry with you, I didn't even think about it."

"Angry with me?"

"What are you, a mocking bird," she challenged, immediately curtailing his question. "Yes, I was angry with you. Every time I see you, you make me so mad I see red, and, by the time I got finished talking in circles with Lucy, I just needed some fresh air. The whole ballroom was suffocating me, and I couldn't breathe. I was starting to break out into a sweat…."

"So, you're saying that I make you all hot and bothered," Jason goaded her, holding his hand up in front of his face to hide his smirk. Her reaction didn't disappoint. With a stomp of her stiletto heeled foot, an infuriated toss of her rich, chocolate waves, and a loud, perturbed groan from her plump, sinfully red mouth, she marched from one corner of the rooftop terrace to the other to confront him.

"Listen up, Butch, and listen up well," Elizabeth ordered Jason while pointing a scarlet nail into his defined, tuxedo clad chest. "If you and I were the last two people on earth and human kind depended upon us procreating, I'd rather kill you with my own two, bare hands than ever have sex with you. At least that way I might get off a little bit."

He tilted his head to observe her closely. "Is that a challenge?"

"Ex…excuse me?"

"Is. That. A. Challenge," Jason carefully enunciated each of his words, in the process, stepping closer to her so that their chests were almost pressed together and she was forced to look up at him to meet his eye. "Don't get me wrong," he clarified, "you're absolutely the last woman I would ever want as the mother of my children, but you just insulted my bedroom skills, and, I don't know about you, but, when someone does that to me, I take it as a challenge to prove them wrong." Quirking an eyebrow at her, he added, "besides, it would help to warm you up."

"I'm fine," the petite woman dismissed his concerns and willed the goosebumps and chills assaulting her underdressed body away. "Though your offer was such a gallant one, let me assure you that we will never sleep together. I'd rather they have to thaw me out with an ice pick and a blow dryer than ever let you touch me."

"Good," he returned insolently, "because, even if I could will away the memories of our past encounters and block out the sound of your grating voice, it would still be quite the chore for you to succeed in arousing me."

She appraised him slowly, running her gaze up and down his strong, lithe body, letting him know in that one glance that she didn't believe a word he said. "Well," she relented, grinning widely, "if you say so, but, just in case you're still suffering from a case of curiosity, I've never had any complaints before."

It took Jason several seconds to regain his composure, and, once he had, he stepped away from the alluring seductress before him and took a very deep, purifying breath. "You should take my jacket," he insisted, already taking it off before she could object. "Technically, you are my date, and, if Brenda found out I let you freeze to death out here, despite us being trapped on the roof being your fault, she'd never let me live it down."

"I don't need your jacket," Elizabeth refused his offer, tossing the garment aside as if its presence alone offended her, "and I sure as hell don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you, Midge," the tall, self-assured guard reassured her. "Pardon me if I'm actually capable of simply, human compassion."

"You would have to have a heart first before you could ever empathize with someone, let alone me, a woman you detest."

"You know what, fine," he relented, picking up his coat and spreading it across his legs after he took a seat on the concrete floor, his back leaning against the terraced railing of the roof. "If this is how you want to play this, I'm game, but would you just get drunk already," he motioned towards the bottle of tequila she was still holding in her hand. "At least that way, once you're properly soused, you won't feel the cold or be able to bother me by running that annoying mouth of yours."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she volleyed back, moving to sit on the opposite side of the roof and raising her voice so he could still hear her. "You'd like me to get good and drunk so that you could take advantage of me."

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart."

"It's not flattery, dumb ass, when you were just trying to proposition me five minutes ago."

"I wasn't trying to proposition you," Jason argued, feeling his frustration growing by the minute. "I was just…"

"You were what?"

"Defending my honor," he returned boldly, shooting dangers at her when she simply rolled her eyes at his comment. "Fuck this," he swore, grabbing the bottle of vodka at his feet and opening it quickly. "If you're not going to get drunk, I, at least, will."

"And I bet your manners only improve with large amounts of liquor," Elizabeth retorted scathingly. It was obvious by her tone that she meant the exact opposite of what she said. "So, goodie, I can't wait to see what you're like as a drunk asshole, Morgan, compared to just your normal infuriating self."

Several minutes passed, Jason was steadily, every sixty seconds, taking a drink of his vodka, and Elizabeth, whose lips, by that point, were starting to turn a scary shade of blue, had even relented and taken a small sip of her tequila, cringing in the process. It was obvious that she didn't like the taste of alcohol and that she wasn't used to drinking hard liquor. At the rate they were going, Jason realized, she really would let herself die of hypothermia before ever letting him help her.

"Here," he demanded, tossing his coat to her and ignoring her earlier protests, "put that on, or I'll come over there and put it on you myself."

The young beauty admitted silent defeat and, without delay, slipped the large jacket around her shivering body, curling her legs up underneath its extra material and trying to warm herself as much as possible. "Thank you." Her voice was soft, subdued, and almost indiscernible, but he could still detect her sincerity.

"You're welcome." After another few minutes had passed and he still noticed the chills running rampant through her petite frame, he spoke again, but, instead of the usual harsh words he had for her, he spoke in a gentle, caring tone. "You know, and I'm not trying to pull anything or seduce you, and this is not pity making me suggest this, but you're going to need more than just my jacket to keep warm, especially if we're going to be up here for a while."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Body heat," Jason answered. "We're going to have to sit close together." Without a word, he watched her as she stood up and quickly made her way across the rooftop, hesitantly sitting down beside him. Once she was situated, he edged his own body closer to hers, tentatively wrapping a strong, reliable arm around her quaking shoulders. "Is this alright," he asked, needing to make sure that she felt secure and at ease. "I'm not making you feel uncomfortable am I?"

"No," Elizabeth immediately reassured him, "this is fine; I'm fine."

"Okay then." With her silent acceptance and non-verbal encouragement, he tightened his grasp around her body, pulling her in to gently rest against his chest, both of his arms winding their way around her diminutive form. Before he knew it, her head was lulling on his shoulder, her shivers had abated, and they had both settled into a relaxed quiet.

The party was in full swing, the champagne was flowing, and the dance floor was filled to capacity with smiling faces, happy couples, and flirting beaus. It was everything Brenda had hoped her party would be, but, despite its success, the ball was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she was focused upon the set up she had organized for her best friend, and, wondering how triumphant her handy work was, she was in search of her coconspirator. Although it took her several minutes to find Emily, the bright red hair that went with her costume served as a beacon to attract her attention.

"There you are," the enthusiastic brunette sighed dramatically, putting her arm through her new, younger friend's. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Why, is something wrong? Did they figure out the truth?"

"Oh, no," Brenda dismissed her concerns lightheartedly, "as far as I know, everything is running smoothly, but that's the problem. I don't know anything. Have you seen either of them around here this evening?"

"Now that you mention it," Emily realized, becoming thoughtful, "I haven't. I saw Elizabeth come in with Lucy, but, soon afterwards, she disappeared. What about Jason?"

"He was here early with me, but the second I turned my back, he was gone. I just assumed he went out to wait on the balcony where he was told his date would meet him."

"That was a nice touch by the way," the taller woman complimented her older friend. "I always find balconies to have a romantic air about them. In fact," she gushed, "everything about this evening is perfect. I don't know if you're psychic or if you just have an uncanny ability to dress other people, but I love my costume."

"You seemed like an _I Love Lucy_ kind of girl," Brenda smiled. "From what you've told me about Elizabeth, I could see the two of you getting into some Lucy and Ethel like trouble."

"We don't get into trouble; trouble finds us."

"I bet," the model quipped, winking. "Anyway, back to our lovebirds. What do you think is going on right now?"

"Well, if I know Elizabeth, and I do," Emily answered, "my guess is that she took him to some quiet, secluded corner…."

"So they could make out," the short brunette suggested hopefully, interrupting her accomplice.

"Yeah, not exactly," the younger woman laughed. "Liz isn't exactly the type to get physical on the first date."

"But," Brenda pointed out, "Jason is. He would go along with the whole privacy idea, but talking would only keep him occupied for so long. He'd need something else to keep him…stimulated. If he was persuasive enough, do you think that Elizabeth could be swayed into making out behind a potted plant?"

"Stranger things have happened?"

"So," the older woman realized, "we just need to search for them in concealed places."

"But we have to be completely silent," Emily added, "because, if they catch us, it'll ruin everything."

"You're the one in heals," the costumed Cleopatra pointed out. "I have bedroom slippers on; I'll be as quiet as a mouse."

"Well then, I'll just take off my shoes," the auburn haired woman suggested. "There, problem solved."

Just as they went to move off together, Brenda holding up her dress and Emily dangling her heels from her fingers, both moving as if they were creeping through a haunted mansion, a third person joined their group, slipping in behind them to watch the retreating, conspiring partners closely. "And what exactly are the two of you up to," Lucy asked, "and why the hell wasn't I included?"

"We're going to find Elizabeth and Jason," Emily answered, "as for why we didn't ask you to come along…."

"We have to be covert," the older woman supplied as an answer, "and let's face it, you are anything but."

"I can be stealth," the energetic cosmetics mogul argued, becoming defensive when Brenda simply raised one of her finely sculpted eyebrows in silent disagreement. "Okay," she reasoned, "so I got us caught when we snuck into Jabot and tried to do some secret investigating on their Christmas ad campaign last year. It could have happened to anyone."

"You left your cell phone on, and it rang," the model retorted. "And don't overlook all those times we've had to change hotels when we were traveling for work, because you got kicked out for being too loud and disturbing your neighbors."

"People are just too sensitive to noise."

"And what about the time you almost got us killed by Dobermans, because you refused to shut up when we were trying to tee-pee the Quartermaines' property a couple of years ago."

"Alright, alright," Lucy surrendered, "so maybe I'm not the most surreptitious person in the world, but, first of all, you have to admit that that old goat deserved everything he got, toilet paper, egged windows, soaped and saran wrapped car and all, and, secondly, no matter how overt I am, you need me."

"We only need you if we want to get caught," the petite brunette taunted, earning herself a glare from the taller woman.

"No, you see, that's where you're wrong. If you want to find them, you need me to tell you where they went."

"Are you saying that Elizabeth and Jason left the party together," Emily asked, starting to get excited.

"In a manner of speaking."

"Spit it out," Brenda ordered. "What do you know?"

"I know that their meeting did not go as you both hoped it would."

"Better or worse," the youngest of the three schemers queried, holding her breath.

"Much, much worse," the businesswoman answered sadly. "Elizabeth was a little too incensed to be comprehendible, but I remember some of her more choice words to describe Jason. Let's see there was nauseating, odious, and insufferable to name a few, and, when we parted company, she was planning ways to kill him while still inflicting as much torture as possible."

"He was probably a royal ass," Brenda huffed, narrowing her eyes in annoyance. "Why the next time I see him, he'll be begging for another chance to meet her and to make this right."

"Well, the night's not over yet," Lucy pointed out, "and seeing as how I saw them both disappear through the same door and neither of them have returned yet, perhaps those sparks of anger turned combustible."

"And they what," the auburn haired woman shrieked, "murdered each other in cold blood?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of making each others blood boil," the makeup expert teased, "if you know what I mean."

"Would you quit hinting around the issue and just tell us where they are?"

"I'm getting there, Brenda dear, don't rush me." Pausing for effect, the older woman nodded for the younger two girls to move in closer to her. "About an hour ago, Jason headed to the bar, grabbed a bottle of booze, and then hightailed it onto the roof by way of the fire exit."

"What about Elizabeth," Emily prompted.

"She, after talking to me, took a similar route, procuring for herself another bottle of liquor and, unwittingly, joining Mr. Morgan on the roof. Either they've chosen to stay up there by themselves or they accidentally got themselves locked on the roof, but, no matter how it happened, you still got what you wanted. Jason and Elizabeth will have plenty of time to get to know one another and get over whatever little spat they had earlier on the balcony as long as no one," Lucy looked pointed at her two friends, "lets them out."

"I don't know about you," the diminutive brunette smiled coquettishly, "but, suddenly, I'm in the mood to dance. Put your shoes back on Bowen," she ordered playfully, "we have some celebrating to do."

"Jason," Elizabeth whispered, waiting for him to respond before she asked her question. The simple nod of his head told her he was listening. "Do you think anyone's still here?" It was much later that evening, hours had passed, and, though she was still cold, the crisp night air was tolerable wrapped up in her companion's embrace. "I mean, do you think there's anybody still down there who might figure out we're missing?"

"Well, it's only about one o'clock, and, knowing how these people love to take advantage of each others generosity, I'm sure there are still quite a few people down there drinking the night and Brenda's money away."

Surprised, she lifted her head from his shoulder to peer into his eyes. "How did you know what time it was? No wait," she stopped him from answering, "it's something they taught you when you were in boy scouts, right, how to tell the time by the position of the moon in the sky?"

"First of all, I was never a boy scout, secondly, you can tell the time by the position of the sun during the day, not by the moon at night, and finally, it's called a watch, Webber," he told her, flashing the silver accessory so that she could see it and chuckling softly. "You might want to try one sometime."

"I don't like tight things around my wrists."

"So then I take it handcuffs are out," Jason quipped making her roll her eyes before she laid her head back down upon his chest. Somewhere along the way, his inappropriate, sexual comments had become par for the course, and they no longer made her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed.

"Tell me, Butch," she returned, enjoying their banter though she would never admit it, "do you always flirt this much with women you can't stand?"

"Of course, don't you remember the old school yard adage? Boys are only mean to the girls they like."

"Lucky me," Elizabeth pouted, unable to keep her eyes from drooping shut. After several minutes of silence though, he gently shook her in his arms and made her open them again.

"Hey, none of that," the bodyguard told her gently. "What did I say about you sleeping?"

"That I'm not allowed."

"Right, so why don't you take another drink of that tequila of yours. I know you hate it, but, besides me, it's the only thing we have to keep you warm tonight." After she had followed his instructions and grimaced her way through taking a small sip of the offending alcohol, he took the bottle back from her. "I must say you confuse me slightly."

"Just me or all women," the blue eyed brunette teased.

Ignoring her, Jason pressed. "If you don't like to drink, why bring up an entire bottle of tequila with you?"

"It was impulse," she replied. "I was angry, I didn't want to be here, and I just wanted to forget everything about this whole rotten day. Getting drunk seemed like the answer. May I ask you a question now?"

"Go right ahead."

"How do you know so much about the effects of alcohol? Have we been shit-faced one too many times before, Morgan; is that how you know about its warming capabilities?"

"No," he responded with a chuckle, "it was something they taught us in bodyguard school."

Startled, Elizabeth sat up again to look at him. "Did you just make a joke?"

Shrugging, he hedged her inquiry. "Maybe."

"Let me give you a piece of advice," she offered. "Don't do it again."

Still laughing softly, Jason ribbed her, "you're too uptight, Midge."

"Why do you do that," she wondered, eyeing him carefully.

"What?"

"Make fun of me because I'm short," she answered.

"I'm not making fun of you, well, not really," the security expert assured her. "You're short. It's not something that's wrong with you, and me calling you either Midget or Shorty is just an innocent nickname."

"You know, it's not so bad being short," Elizabeth continued as if she hadn't heard his explanation and still felt the need to defend her height. "Sure, I'll never be able to slam dunk and I'll always need a step stool to reach the top shelf in a cupboard or to change a light bulb, but things could be worse, and, besides, that's why the invented heels. Plus," she added, suddenly finding herself on a roll, "there are definite advantages to being vertically challenged."

"Such as?"

"Well, for one," the spirited pixie pointed out, "it comes in handy when you're trying to make your way through a crowd. I can sneak underneath everyone else's raised arms or hunch down and elbow my way through and they don't see me. Trust me, it's helped me make my way to the front of a long line many of times, and I'm always my friends' favorite person to take shopping when the department stores hold their big sales."

"Is that all you've got, Webber?"

"No," she argued with him, "it's also beneficial because I never have to bend over to walk through a doorway, I fit quite nicely into sports cars, and it makes me really good at limbo."

"All admirable qualities," Jason teased, nudging her shoulder with his own in a friendly manner.

"But, by far," her voice dropped to barely a whisper as she pressed on, "the best thing about being short is how perfectly I fit in a man's arms." Looking up, their gazes locked together, sapphire colliding into icy cerulean. "There is no feeling in the world quite like the sensation of being held securely in a man's arms, the way you feel safe and protected, cherished and loved, beautiful and desired all at the same time. It's almost erotic."

"Like this," he wondered, tightening his grip around her small body and lowering his face so that their warm breaths could mingle together.

"Yeah," Elizabeth nervously exhaled. Without pause and without questioning what she was doing or thinking, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down the last few centimeters so their lips could meet. The reaction in her body was instant and blinding in its intensity. She wanted him, right there, right then, consequences be damned, she wanted him. It didn't matter that just hours before they had screaming at each other in anger, it didn't matter that they were practically strangers, it didn't matter that having sex with Jason Morgan on the roof of the Port Charles hotel would be dangerous and foolish; all that mattered was that when he kissed her she felt alive and on fire, like her blood had slowly been simmering all night and had finally erupted into a raging boil. And with that in mind, she set out to let him seduce her.

When his sharp teeth nipped at her bottom lip, begging her mouth to open to his, she sighed in pleasure, immediately granting him access to the warm recesses of her mouth. When his tongue slipped between her plump, kiss swollen lips, she gasped in ecstasy, raking her nails through the short, roguish, blonde strands of hair at the nape of his neck and joined him with her own tongue in a lustful battle for control. When his fingers slipped down to the find the zipper of her costume, releasing it so slowly she ached for him to merely rip the offending garment off her aroused body, she found herself arching into his touch and completely letting go, giving in to his every whim, desire, and need. When his mouth closed over one of her painfully stimulated nipples, his lips kissing the sensitive areola, his teeth scraping over the swollen apex, his tongue laving and suckling it until the point her petite form was taken over by uncontrollable tremors of desire, she submitted to his silent entreaties and laid back onto the ground with only his tuxedo jacket to protect her vulnerable skin against the cool, rough concrete of the rooftop. When the last vestige of his clothing was removed and he stood in front of her in all his fine, masculine glory, fully aroused and throbbing with desire, she released her inhibitions and restraint and cried out in a blatant, unrepentant moan of need, begging him with whimpers and bucking hips to make love to her. When he entered her for the first time, her constricted, saturated inner walls stretching to accommodate his wanted intrusion into her body, she met him thrust for thrust in both intensity and wanton desire, ensuring that their naked forms moved in flawless harmony, and, when they reached their climax together, their souls cascading down a waterfall of bliss, rapture, and splendor together as one, she knew that no one had ever worshiped or savored, pleasured or enjoyed her body as Jason Morgan had and no one ever would.


	4. Chapter 4

_ I just wanted to remind you that this ficlet is only five chapters long, so, after this post, we only have one chapter left. Enjoy!_

Charlynn

Chapter Four

The sun was entirely visible in the sky, and, as Elizabeth felt its far away, warm rays awaken the earth around her, she was surprised to find herself perfectly content with her surroundings. In the haze between sleep and complete consciousness, she was unsure of where exactly she was, but she knew she had not fallen asleep the night before in her apartment's comfortable bed. However, unlike the morning after her first sleep over in elementary school, the first time she stayed in her dorm room freshman year, and the first time she realized she was living by herself in her own home, the thought of not recognizing her environment did not scare her. Instead, she felt relaxed, comfortable, and even protected, an odd combination in her current state of confusion. Braving the unknown, she slowly peeled her weary left eye open, squinting at the brightness of the day, to figure out just exactly where she was.

The first thing she encountered was flesh – tanned, muscular, masculine flesh, and, from that point on, she knew it was going to be a very bad morning. Opening both eyes, she scanned what appeared to be a rooftop, and the previous night came back to her – the party, the ridiculous Playboy Bunny costume, the horrible reality of getting trapped with Jason on the roof, and, worst of all, the sex with a man who not only had the amazing ability to annoy her like no other but who also was practically a stranger. His nude body was wrapped around her own vulnerable form, luckily still sleeping, but what caught her by surprise was the fact that they were covered by several thick, luxurious throws of various colors, that there was two overnight bags placed to the side of their impromptu pallet, and that there was a picnic basket with what she could only presume was breakfast. Obviously, someone knew they had spent the night together in more ways than one after being locked up on the roof the evening before, so not only would she have to face the mortifying memories of her lack in judgment and her one night stand as soon as he woke up, but she would also have to face teasing innuendos, probing questions, and the humiliation of being caught having an affair that never should have happened by, in all likelihood, Lucy. After all, she was the only person, besides Jason, that she had talked to at the party, and her boss had known about the set-up date.

Snatching the top blanket, Elizabeth rolled it into an oblong ball before sliding away from the slumbering man beside and replacing her warm form with that of the substitute blanket. Carefully, she held her breath as she waited to see if he would wake or not, but, after several incomprehensible mumbles and one shift in position, Jason settled back down into the inviting cocoon of blankets, allowing her to sigh in relief before locating her small suitcase and pulling out the clothes she would need to escape from the hotel and the recollections of a night that never should have happened.

Whoever had packed her bag had done a good job, including warm, comfortable, simple clothes that would be easy to put on and disappear without much hassle. After quickly putting on a pair of basic undergarments, track pants, a t-shirt followed by an oversized sweatshirt, Elizabeth sat down away from the pile of blankets she had fled mere minutes before to tie her tennis shoes. Despite the ravenous rumblings of her stomach, she had decided to forego the provided picnic basket so she could leave as soon as possible. Let Jason eat the food if he wanted to. By the time he woke up, she would be long gone and stopping by Kelly's for a large hot chocolate and two apple turnovers on her walk back to her studio apartment. Hopefully, if everything went to plan, their paths would never cross again, and, eventually, both the night and the man would fade far, far away from her mind, never to be seen or heard of again.

Dressed, costume tossed in the duffel bag, and standing up, once again, with her back turned away from Jason, she was just a handful of short steps away from freedom, from escaping her own private hell when perhaps the most stomach clenching words were spoken in her direction.

"So this is what it feels like to be used and tossed aside in the morning. I've had lots of one night stands, but I've never been the one to be left behind without a number, a goodbye, or even a thanks the next day; I'm normally the one doing the leaving."

"Now there's something you can write home to Mom and brag about."

Ignoring her sarcastic comment, Jason asked, "what do you think you're doing, Elizabeth? Did you think that if you snuck out of here and went home quick enough that you would wake up later in the morning and this would all be a bad dream? Well, I'm sorry, but you weren't drunk, so you can't excuse your misguided optimism as the side effect of a hangover."

"If I wasn't drunk, then you sure the hell weren't either," she returned, swirling around, an angry flush tingeing her still sleep softened face.

"I know that."

"So what's your justification," she challenged him.

"Justification," the bodyguard pondered, cocking his head to look at her closely. "What are you talking about? I wasn't the one trying to run off before the other woke up."

"I'm talking about last night, about sleeping with me," Elizabeth snapped, dropping her bag and placing her hands on her hips. "What was that all about?"

Despite her ire, he couldn't help but laugh at her, his mirth only incensing her further. "Get off of it," he ordered, standing up and, unabashedly nude, despite her nervous gulps and stammering, making his way towards his own overnight bag. "We didn't do anything last night that you didn't want to do. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, and, trust me, everything from last night is crystal clear in my mind, you were the one who made the first move."

"Even if I did kiss you first," the brunette argued, "you didn't pull back, and, instead, you definitely pushed it forward. Besides, my actions could be explained by desperation or temporary insanity brought on by the cold. You can't say the same."

"Maybe I just wanted to help a lady out, you know, try on the whole chivalrous, white knight role for once. Obviously," he frowned, "it wasn't worth the time or the effort, because you're just not very appreciative."

"Appreciative," Elizabeth repeated heatedly, "appreciatively! Where do you get off? Just because you slept with me, that does not give you the right to expect a thank you. I'm sorry, but no matter how good the sex was, I was fifty percent responsible for anything either of us felt."

Ignoring everything else she said, the blonde took a step towards her in only a pair of jeans and quirked his eyebrow. "So, the sex was good? How good?"

"You would focus on that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I'd zero in on the compliment. It could very well be the only one you've ever given me before," Jason pointed out with what, if she didn't know better, she'd call a mock pout.

"Ugh," the artist groaned in frustration, "this is getting us nowhere. Would you just put your shirt on so we can come up with a story to tell everyone?"

Complying to her request, he slipped on a long sleeved t-shirt. "Tell everyone," he questioned, "what, do you want to take a full page ad announcing that we had sex?"

"No, what I want is to think of a plausible defense to present to whoever it is who already knows about us….about this."

Apparently, she just kept walking straight into her own set traps. "So there's an us now," the security expert queried. "Interesting."

Snapping her fingers, Elizabeth tried to refocus her sparring partner. "I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. My guess is that only Lucy and Miss Barrett know about this so far, but, give my boss twenty-four hours to recover from her hangover from last night, and she'll be spreading the news of our….liaison faster than an STD on a college campus. I know that we weren't drunk, but that's what we could tell them."

"I don't lie," the blonde refuted her idea, "and, besides, Brenda would never by that I was too drunk to control my actions. I can hold my liquor pretty well."

"That makes one of us," she replied. Sighing, Elizabeth suggested, "well, I could still tell Lucy that I was at least drunk. She'd believe that about me."

"What, Webber, do you often get smashed at parties and sleep with the first guy who offers you his coat?"

"Screw you!"

"Oh, very mature," he taunted, "but you already did that. Don't you remember?" When all she did was flip him off, he continued. "You can forget that idea though. You're not telling your boss that you were drunk when you slept with me, because then she and Brenda will think that I took advantage of you."

"Fine," the brunette relented, "but that only leaves us with one option. We tell them a version of the truth."

"And that would be…"

"That we got trapped on the roof, I was an icicle in my hair shy of looking like an extra from _Titanic_, and, to keep me warm, we slept together. It was nothing more than a no strings attached, no feeling involved one night stand between two people who were physically attracted to one another despite their inability to hold a civil conversation."

"Just so I can get our story straight, let me get this right," Jason challenged. "You're attracted to me?"

"The thought of spending one more minute with you might make me want to see if I can scale down a twenty story building, the sound of your voice might make me yearn for an ice pick to jab out my own ear drums, and the knowledge that I actually slept with you might be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me, but I am mature enough to admit that you're not hard on the eyes…well, at least, since you shaved. However," the assistant continued, "that does not mean that I want this splashed across the page six gossip column or that I want a repeat performance. If it was up to me, I would never see you again, hear about this night again, or think about what happened between us again for the rest of my life."

He was silent for a moment as he regarded her. "I'm attracted to you, too." However, there was no insult to accompany his comment.

"So then we agree," Elizabeth prompted. "We'll just tell our respective employers a PG version of the truth and politely ask them to refrain from ever speaking of what they saw or know of ever again."

"If that's what you want."

"It's what I want," she agreed without hesitation, but, once she finished talking, they simply stood there, staring at each other, neither moving nor saying a thing. Finally, it was Jason who spoke up to break the silence.

"For someone who wanted to so badly get away from me earlier, you're not really moving so quickly now."

"I don't," the young woman faultered, unsure of how to express what she wanted to say, "I'm not sure what we do now. I've never had a one night stand before. While you were still sleeping, it made sense to get up and get away before you woke up, but, now that you're awake, do we….shake hands and simply say goodbye, and what about all this stuff?"

"Don't worry about it, Midge," Jason assured her. "I'll pack all this up and dump it at Brenda's on my way home. She'll know what to do with it. As for how we do this, it's simple. Just turn around and leave."

"That's it?"

With a chuckle, he waved her away. "I'll see you around, Elizabeth."

"I hope not, Morgan," she tossed back over her shoulder as she passed through the propped open emergency exit doorway, and, before he could say anything else, she was already gone.

"Thanks for meeting me," Brenda greeted her accomplice that afternoon. "We have some major damage control to do."

"What are you talking about," the younger woman questioned, frowning deeply while spreading her starched linen napkin across her lap. "They looked quite close this morning when we left them."

"Well, according to a slightly hostile Jason who I just left thirty minutes ago, it was nothing more than a survival screw?"

Confused, Emily squinted at the brunette. "Excuse me?"

"Elizabeth went up on the roof without a coat on, and, because of her coverage lacking costume, a few hours exposed to the elements left her vulnerable to frost bite. According to my moody, very ungrateful friend, they slept together for no other reason than to make sure that she didn't get too cold."

"That's ridiculous! Sex is not something Elizabeth does lightheartedly. I mean…you read those responses I wrote to your questions from when we were still pretending to be Jason and Elizabeth, respectively; there has to be more to their actions." Almost regretfully, she pointed out, "Lucy did say something about alcohol being taken with them up onto the roof."

"I asked Jason about that," Brenda revealed, "but he said they were both sober. Sure, he admitted that they both had a few drinks, hers for warmth and his to get her to take a few sips, but they were not drunk."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Yeah," the older woman confessed. "He told me that last night wasn't the first time they met. They've had two run-ins previously, both due to my business association with Deception, and let's just say that when they're in the same room together, complimentary ear plugs should be distributed."

"So they push each others buttons," the auburn haired woman reasoned. "Maybe their arguing is a form of foreplay."

"Verbal banter is not exactly Jason's style."

"Then Elizabeth brings out a new, more vocal side in him," Emily suggested. "I don't care what they say, there is something there between them. I've read the information you've provided me about Jason numerous times, and he's perfect for Liz, just as I think she's perfect for him, too. All we have to do is somehow make it so that they can see what we've seen about them."

Suddenly inspired, Brenda lifted her bowed face to look her younger friend in the eye. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"What are you thinking?"

"We have to get Jason and Elizabeth to read the others files from their online profiles," the model answered. "Did you save a copy of the answers you typed up when you were answering my questions, pretending to be Elizabeth?"

"Yes," the auburn haired woman answered slowly.

"Perfect!" Lowering her voice, the older woman leaned across the table before she continued to speak. "Now this is what we're going to do," she instructed, a mischievous twinkle in her eye belying the fact that, once again, she had a plan, a plan that was, contrary to her first one, quite simple and straightforward in nature.

Elizabeth had just finished a very strange, rather scatterbrained conversation with Brenda Barrett several minutes before, only to find herself seated on her couch in her studio with a thin, manila folder resting on her lap. Despite herself, she was curious to see what it held inside. The model had come knocking on her door fifteen minutes before wanting to speak to her in private, despite never having an actual conversation with her before, and had proceeded to explain how she and Emily had met online at a dating service website, impersonating their best friends in the hope that they would be able to finally match them up in a successful relationship. Their conversations through the internet had led the two young women to declare that their best friends were perfect for each other, and, after that, her blind date with Jason had been organized, and, although both she and the bodyguard had refuted the idea of them working as a couple, Brenda was still convinced they would be amazing together. To persuade her, she had brought over a folder of ten questions Emily had asked her, and, according to the older woman, she had answered them as she felt Jason would, and who better to speak for him than the woman who had been his best friend since they were kids. Eventually, Elizabeth had agreed to read the file, more so just to get rid of the energetic model, but even she couldn't deny the slight surge of curiosity she felt at the thought of learning more about the man who had so thoroughly physically loved her the night before. She excused her feelings as wanting to get into his mind so she could one up him the next time they had a fight, but even Elizabeth knew that was a lie. Sighing at her own sentimentality, she opened the folder and began to read.

_**If you could live anywhere and in any house you want, where would you live and in what kind of house would you make your home?**_

_A place does not make a home; four walls and a roof are not needed to make a home. A home should be going back to someone you love. It's a level of contentment one can only reach by spending their time with someone important to them. As where I would want that home to be, it really doesn't matter to me. I like Port Charles, but, at the same time, I like to travel. It doesn't really matter, and, if I had to pick a physical description of a place where I would choose to live and make my physical home, it would be simple and uncluttered with large, open rooms, lots of windows, and a big yard. Oh, and I'd need a pool table and a garage to work on my bike. Everything else, I'd leave up to whoever I was sharing and making my home with._

As soon as she finished the first question, Elizabeth was already looking at Jason Morgan in a new light. He wasn't unfeeling or even emotionless; he simply was reserved which, when she considered how others cheapened their feelings by flaunting and over-simplifying them, wasn't necessarily a bad thing. However, what scared her the most was the fact that she liked his ideal of the perfect home, including everything from a home being a partnership between two people in a relationship to his insistence that the house have a pool table. It would be fun, having a pool table, and, as her mind unwittingly flashed back to the previous night, she flushed when realizing the fun could be had in more than one way. Shaking away her thoughts, the young artist returned to the file and the next question.

_**If you could eliminate a single type of animal forevermore, which would you choose?**_

_That's easy – little, annoying, yipping, designer clothes wearing dogs._

Now that did not surprise her at all! Stifling her laughter, Elizabeth wiped away the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes at the picture of Jason carrying one of his hated pets around in a wicker basket before perusing the third topic.

_**If you could keep only one article of clothing you currently own and the rest were to be thrown out, what would you keep?**_

_Hands down, I'd keep my leather jacket. Everything else could easily be replaced, not that I need many clothes to start with, but it's taken me years of wearing my jacket to get it broken in the way I like it, and that's not something you go can go out and simply replace by buying a new one. _

It was more than that though, Elizabeth realized. Jason Morgan's leather jacket was a part of his aura, a part of his personality, a part of what made him the man he was. Take it away from him, and it would be like Oscar the Grouch without his garbage can, JR Ewing without his cowboy hat, Jack Nicholson without his sunglasses; it just couldn't be done.

_**If you could have one specific power over other people what would it be?**_

_I wouldn't want power over other people, because that would take away from their own free will. If I don't want someone to tell me what to do or how to act, then I'm not going to do it to someone else. Having power over other people would mean that I could partially control them, and I want no part of that._

Elizabeth snorted at that response. Little did he know that he already had more than one strong power over other people, over women. He had the power to seduce, and, obviously, she recognized belated, he wielded his power skillfully. While she could admire his reluctance to control other people, some power in the world was used unintentionally, and Jason's looks and cocky charm fell into that category, at least where she was concerned.

_**If you could choose exactly what you will eat and drink for your last meal before death, what would the menu consist of?**_

_Ruby's chili, a number three, no onions at Kelly's, and an ice cold bottle of beer._

A simple meal for an unpretentious man, Elizabeth surmised. With a laugh, she had to admit that anyone who settled down with him would not have to work that hard to give their man a perfect meal. Not only was Kelly's affordable, but it was also centrally related in town, and beer in a bottle was just icing on the cake, because he wouldn't even dirty a glass.

_**If you could decide how to spend your last day alive, what would you do?**_

_I'd do the things I love. I'd take my bike out and ride for hours, going nowhere fast, I'd stop at Jake's to play a few games of pool, and then I'd head home with an unknown woman and let her warm my bed. After all, wild sex with no strings attached, what a way to go?_

Okay, so he was an unpretentious pig, that was no surprise, but he was also male, she rationalized, so it was to be expected. However, despite her aversion to his casual sexual attitude, Elizabeth knew that if Jason was in a relationship, he wouldn't fulfill the final part of his ideal last day on earth; instead, he would spend the evening in bed holding and making love to the woman who had actually succeeded in taming the heart of the man who seemed to never want to settle down. How she knew that, she had no idea, but she did, and, for some unknown reason, it made her feel better.

_**If you could have one person you know be your slave for one month, who would you choose?**_

_My employer who just so happens to be my oldest friend, because it's past time for her to learn a very important lesson: paybacks really are a bitch._

Giggling, Elizabeth found herself agreeing with his sentiment. Turning the tables on their pampered bosses and making them their personal slaves for a month would be wonderful payback. However, neither Brenda nor Lucy would ever make it that long without fleeing the country or crying uncle.

_**If you had to eliminate one season permanently, which one would go?**_

_I don't really feel the cold, the heat doesn't bother me, and I definitely don't get worked up over mud puddles or falling leaves. That said, if I had to eliminate a season, I'd go for fall, simply because it poses the most threat security wise. It's easier to hide out in the woods and blend in during the fall than any other season. Anything that would make my job easier works for me._

That question, besides telling her when she should plan her first and only attack on Fort Knox, did nothing to help Elizabeth figure out who the mysterious Jason Morgan was. She already knew he was anal when it came to his work, but, instead of finding herself annoyed with him for being so predictable, she was irked at her best friend for asking such a trivial question. Hoping the next one was more insightful, she went back to the folder.

_**If you had to give up all sexual activity for one year, how much money would you demand (minimum) in return?**_

_I'd never do it. Money means nothing to me; sex, I like. Whatever idiot offered me this exchange could keep their money, and I'd keep having sex – great sex._

Before she could stop herself, two thoughts, both horrifying in their own way, flashed through Elizabeth's mind. The first was that if she could always have sex with Jason Morgan, she wouldn't give it up for a year in exchange for any amount of money either, and the second was that she hoped Brenda was not adding the last part on her own through personal experience. Why it bothered her to think of Jason in bed with his boss, she didn't want to consider, and, instead of contemplating it, she decided to read the last question.

_**If you had to describe the single worst thing a friend could do to you, what would it be?**_

_The worst thing someone, a friend, could do to me is betray me and my trust. I don't give either my friendship or my trust easily, and to have that tossed back in my face and betrayed, that would be hard to forget or forgive._

Truer words she had never heard Jason Morgan speak. Closing the folder and holding it against her chest, Elizabeth sank back against the cousins of her old, worn couch, realizing that she and the bodyguard had more than a few things in common. Maybe he wasn't the ogre she had originally pegged him as, perhaps he did have a few redeeming qualities, and, maybe, just maybe, the paint fumes from her studio were starting to affect her thinking process. Rolling her eyes at her own over-romanticizing, she shoved her way up from the sofa, tossed the papers from Brenda aside, and moved to arrange her paints. If nothing else, the evening before had been artistically inspiring, and she had the rest of the weekend to be by herself and paint, the perfect way to clear her mind of all thing Jason Morgan related.

A dating service? An online website to help sexually challenged, backwards individuals find a mate, that's what his supposed best friend thought he needed, at least, according to Emily Bowen, Elizabeth Webber's best friend and Brenda's partner in crime in their whole blind date disaster. What made his boss think that he was interested in settling down, getting married, having 2.5 kids, and adopting a golden retriever, he'd never know, especially when everyone knew that Jason Morgan was all about going out on a Friday night and finding a woman he would have to splurge for a room they could rent by the hour, not a woman he would have to strap himself down to a mortgage payment with. If he had wanted a real relationship, he could have gone out and found himself one, but, no, Brenda couldn't let him live his life the way he saw fit; she wanted him to live it the way she thought he should, and, after a very brief conversation with a skittish, clearly anxious auburn haired younger woman he'd never seen prior to that afternoon, Jason knew just exactly what lengths his best friend would go to in order to find him his very own Miss Perfect. Too bad he didn't want perfection. However, the only thing the whole escapade left him with was a one night stand who couldn't stand to be in the same room as him, a folder of ten questions Brenda had asked to an Emily pretending to be Elizabeth, and a long, formal, black evening coat belonging to his blind date that her friend had just so happened to accidentally leave behind when she dropped off the manila file. Yeah freaking right – accident his ass. With nothing better to do, Jason plopped down on his favorite leather chair and opened the dossier. After all, there were definitely things less interesting to read about than Elizabeth Webber.

_**If you could arrange for yourself the perfect wedding, what would it entail?**_

_Well, first of all, I think that I should first state that marriage isn't necessarily that important to me. You don't have to be married to someone to be in love, but, if I ever decide to take the scary step, I would want the whole affair to be simple and understated. No wedding party, no gaudy reception, no glossy invitations – just me, my groom, a minister, and our closest family and friends. Actually, when I think about it, a little, whitewashed, clapboard church in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, natural flowers, and wildlife, sounds perfect. He'd wear a clean, unadorned suit; I'd be in a white, simple dress, something that could be worn again and no one would think it was a wedding gown. Even electricity would be unnecessarily. Candle light would be fine. Basically, my ideal wedding is the J.F.K. Jr./Carolyn Bissett nuptials, sans the designer clothes, famous family, and pictures strewn across the globe from one gossip magazine to the next. Hell, I'd even be up for eloping._

Jason had to admit that, as far as weddings go, Elizabeth's vision of what hers would someday be wasn't that bad. He'd definitely been to worse. However, if he ever decided to get married, her last sentence is what he had in mind: eloping – but not to Vegas, anything but Vegas.

_**If you had to decide now if you would have kids or not, would you, and, if so, how many?**_

_I really haven't thought about kids that much. Sure, as an abstract idea, I think I would want to be a mom, but it also scares me. I mean, what kind of parent would I be? I'm sure my parents didn't think they'd be too self-involved to take care of their children and love them like they needed, but that didn't stop them from dumping us with any available relative so they could run off and save the world one sick baby at a time. Even though I would want to do a better job at raising my kids than my own parents did, that doesn't guarantee that I'd be a good mom. So, maybe someday I'd want kids, but, for now, I'm too young. I still have too many things I need to learn about life before I can be responsible for another person's life. Plus, I'm lacking a key ingredient – a mate._

He didn't care what she said, Elizabeth would be a good mom. He didn't know her that well, and he knew even less about her parents, but he had been as intimate with her as a man and woman could be, and what he had learned about her was that she was gentle, affectionate, compassionate, and attentive to the needs of others. A man could tell a lot about a woman from the way they made love, and Elizabeth Webber was definitely maternal.

_**If you could receive one small package this very moment, who would it be from and what would be in it?**_

_Listen to me, I go in one question from insulting my parents to wanting them to want me. I guess my package would be a letter; it would be a long note from both of my parents. They would try to rekindle a relationship with me, they'd inquire about my life, and they would share openly about their own. At this point, it would just be nice to know where they're currently living and working. _

His brow creased in fury and frustration. No one, not even a mouthy, impertinent, easily angered, tiny but powerful pixy of a woman like Elizabeth, deserved to be treated by their parents the way she was, and, in that moment, Jason vowed that if he ever met them, he'd somehow pay them back, even if in an infinitesimal way like slashing their tires. It wouldn't help Elizabeth, but it sure as hell would make him feel slightly better.

_**If you had to lose one of your five senses, which would you give up?**_

_Oh, that's kind of easy. There's no way I'd give up my sight, not as an artist, touch is too essential to life, taste is too much fun, and I love music too much to give up my hearing. Therefore, the nose has to go. Besides, with all the paint fumes I inhale daily, my sense of smell has to be on its way out already anyway._

Although he agreed with her, Jason had to admit that there were some scents he would sorely miss if he lost his ability to smell: the aroma of a freshly brewed pot of rich, Columbian coffee, the clean essence of the mountain air after a brisk ride on his bike through the night, and, he realized, slightly surprised and unnerved, the delicious blend of new snow and peonies, the scent that floated in the air whenever he was around Elizabeth Webber.

_**If you could be guaranteed on thing in life besides money, what would it be?**_

_The freedom to do what I want, be who I want, and love whom I want, that's really the only thing I desire in life. Too many people have tried to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, and, if I had my way, no one would ever get the chance to do so again. _

He lived his life the same way. He was his own man, and, thinking back over his first two encounters with Elizabeth and the night they spent together, Jason realized she was her own woman, too. The easiest way to push her buttons was to act as if you knew how she could live her life better than she could. She was stubborn, independent, and willful, just as he was. No wonder they butted heads.

_**If a photograph of one part of your body were to be used in an advertisement, which part would you want to be used and for what product or service?**_

_I think I'd have to go with my feet/toes. I know most people don't even think about their feet, but I like mine; I always have. That's my favorite thing about summer – getting to wear sandals that show off my feet and toes, and, if I were in an ad for toenail polish, I could probably work it into my contract that I would receive free sample products for the rest of my life. Plus, no one would ever recognize me for my feet, so I'd be able to remain anonymous._

She did have nice feet and toes, thin and petite, graceful and sexy, delicate and utterly lickable. As quickly as the thought entered his mind, Jason banished it. Elizabeth had made it quite clear that they weren't ever going there again, and it would serve no purpose for him to think about her in that way…at least not consciously. What he remembered about their night together or imagined in his fantasies while he slept, that he couldn't control.

_**If you could only have one piece of furniture in your house, what would you want it to be?**_

_I could answer with the issue of comfort in mind, but I'm sure I could get used to sleeping and eating on the floor if necessary. I could store my clothes in piles along the wall and organize my art supplies without a table. However, no matter what, I have to have an easel. Sure, some people might not consider it a piece of furniture, but, for me, it's really the only thing necessary in my apartment. As an added bonus, I'd get more work done, because no one and especially – insert my best friend's name here – would come to visit me. _

If Elizabeth needed her easel, he needed his toolbox that housed everything he needed to work on and fix his bike. Like she said, Jason agreed, everything else in life could be accomplished by using the floor. It might not be as comfortable, but, just like she would, he'd adapt. However, he would miss his pool table, but there was always Jake's.

_**If you could change one thing about your first sexual experience, what would it be?**_

_I guess this would be the portion of the questionnaire where full discloser would be appreciated. When I was a teenager, I was raped, so technically I guess you could count that as my first sexual experience. If so, I would make it so that I wasn't sitting alone on that park bench that night, therefore; I would never have been attacked. However, I don't like to think of that as my first sexual experience for obvious reasons. With that in mind, I'd change the fact that I fell asleep during my first consensual experience having sex. Let's just say that it's not the best way to keep a relationship going. _

If Jason thought the truth about her parents had made him mad, the knowledge that someone had raped Elizabeth when she was teenager made him see red. It was several minutes before his breathing leveled off to a normal rate, and, when he regained his ability to think and observe rationally, he realized that the blunt nails of his left hand had poked holes in the arm rest of his favorite leather chair. Never before had the urge to kill someone been so strong within him, and he had also never felt the pull to protect someone as strongly as he suddenly found himself wanting to take care of Elizabeth Webber. She would hate that reaction in him, but he didn't care. His only comfort was the fact that he knew she wasn't broken or damaged from the rape. The woman he had slept with the night before found comfort in a man's body, enjoyed sex, and never once showed signs of being haunted by a violent past. However, that still did not alleviate his unexpected longing to be with her again in order to show her just how beautiful she was, to show her how a woman's body should be cherished, how, if it were up to him, no one would ever hurt her again. Elizabeth deserved that, but the only thing Jason could do was hope that someday she found someone to be with who realized that.

_**If you won the lottery, what is the first thing you would do?**_

_I'd tell Lucy to give her own damn duck a bath! This action would be two fold. Not only would it make me feel better, but it would also make her fire me. Talk about killing two birds, pun intended, with one stone. _

Emily Bowen had no idea what she had just given him: perfect blackmail material. With this file in his possession, Jason would forever be able to hold Elizabeth's response to the ninth question over her head. He now held her job security in the palm of his hand, and he quite enjoyed the idea of making her dance to keep him happy and entertained. As an added bonus, her shapely legs would look good dancing.

_**If you could invent one new home appliance, what would it do?**_

_It would stretch canvases. True, the inventor and manufacturer would go broke, because there would only be a few people who would want to purchase their appliance, but it would definitely save me from a lot of frustration, headaches, and splinters. _

As he came to the end of the file, Jason set the manila folder aside and looked around his living room, his eyes almost automatically landing on the coat Elizabeth's best friend had so calculatingly left behind. Fours hours before when he had watched the petite artist walk away from him, she had made it clear that she never wanted to see him again, but Jason knew he would not be able to stay away, not after what he had just read about her. She was no longer the woman who made him so angry he wanted to spit nails, she was no longer the cause of the worst migraine he had ever suffered from, she was no longer the latest notch on his long list of one night stands. Instead, she was….Elizabeth, unique, passionate, talented, beautiful, infuriatingly stubborn, sexy, life altering Elizabeth Webber, and, if nothing else, he was not going to sentence her to having to deal with Brenda by leaving the evening coat with his employer to return to the artist. He would take it to her himself, and, maybe, they'd be able to have their first real conversation without actually fighting. Crazier things had happened.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Just a quick message to remind you - this is the last chapter for this ficlet. Enjoy!_

_Charlynn_

Chapter Five

Jason wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting as he approached Elizabeth's apartment building, but it sure as hell wasn't what he had found. As he knocked, knocked some more, and continued to knock on her door – loudly – without response, he wasn't all that surprised she couldn't hear him. Between the noise being made by the heating system – where that heat went exactly he wasn't sure, because even he could feel how cool the building was – and the strange mixture of voices coming from inside the brunette's studio, voices that alerted him to the fact that she was, at least, home, it was no wonder she couldn't make out his pounding on her door. Unfortunately, that was the only thing about his trip to return her coat that made any sense.

The first thing that bewildered him was the fact that her apartment was definitely in the wrong part of town. Close to the docks and on a block more frequented by drug dealers, pimps, and crack whores than taxi cabs and pedestrian traffic, even he had been leery of leaving his motorcycle parked out front without some kind of alarm system or lock on it. At that point, Jason had thought his impression of her place would improve; after all, she was a glorified princess who worked for the queen of upscale living, but, instead of finding a chic, trendy interior to the dilapidated building, he found a hellhole that was a burnt out light bulb away being condemned.

Where he had expected a doorman to greet him at the entrance, instead, he found a bum begging for spare change. The state of the art fitness center and pool were non-existent, but the building did come equipped with a broken elevator and boarded up windows in what he supposed was to pass for the lobby. The dimly lit, narrow stairway led him to a hallway that was barely negotiable it was so dark, and, while he had been expecting lavish decorations and ornate detailing, he found cracked plaster and what had to be the most intimidating, thick, and impenetrable door he had ever seen in his life…and that was coming from a security expert. It was the only thing reassuring him that Elizabeth did, in fact, live there and that her best friend had not played some sort of weird, sick, practical joke on him.

After five minutes of continuous knocking and still not receiving an answer, Jason decided to take matters into his own hands – literally. Thankful that he always came prepared for any sticky situation, he pulled out his lock picks and set to work letting himself into the infuriatingly sarcastic assistant's studio. Was it the smartest decision he had ever made, probably not, but, for some reason beyond him, he knew that he not only wanted to see her but that he needed to as well, so, if he had to risk making her mad at him, once again, he would. As he tried to listen for the telltale signs of the lock clicking into place over the loud, hypnotic voice of a recording, the soft, fairly dreadful strains of female singing, and the chugging and churning of a hot water heating system that was definitely not living up to its name, Jason endeavored to formulate a plan of how to approach Elizabeth and what he was going to say to her in order to minimize the damage of him technically breaking into her home.

By the time he had the door open, the only things he had figured out was that she was listening to a travel book on CD – that was the monotonous voice droning on in the background of the apartment – while singing a slightly tone-deaf version of a Christmas song he couldn't quite recall the name of. Unfortunately, he was plan free, but, even if he would have been successful in coming up with a battle strategy, the sight that greeted him as he pushed open the heavy, steel door would have robbed him of any clever thought or sharp, quick witted idea.

Unlike the rest of the building, Elizabeth's studio was bright, cheerful, and even warm thanks to several space heaters strategically placed around the sparsely furnished, massively large room. Other than a modest kitchen that was tucked into a faraway corner of the loft space, a door which led, he presumed, to her bathroom, and a curtained off area which, undoubtedly, housed her bedroom, the entire space was devoted to her artwork. She had shelving for supplies, storage units to house stretched, prepared canvases and already completed pieces, tables for mixing paint, a sketching desk, several easels, stools, and a lone couch which, in all likelihood after taking in the rest of the apartment, was more for her to relax on while drawing in a sketchpad than to serve as a welcoming, comfortable seat for guests.

She really was a devoted artist who worked for Lucy to pay the bills. It wasn't that he had doubted her dedication after reading the printouts Emily had left for him, but he hadn't expected her to be so consumed with her art, so passionate about her craft, so….simple in her wants and desires and refreshingly uncomplicated, two things he prided himself on being. Watching her from the entryway, he took in her appearance.

Her clothes were the same ones she had left the roof that morning wearing, albeit with several new stains thanks to paint splatters, her face was scrubbed free of the heavy, dark makeup she had been wearing the night before to the party, and her hair was still in the complicated up do her costume had required, just slightly messier and more curly than it had been all those hours early when she moved away from him as quickly as her petite, shapely legs could carry her. It was obvious by her facade that she hadn't showered yet, and it gave Jason's male pride a strange surge of satisfaction to know she would still smell like him, that she still hadn't washed away the physical evidence of their love making.

Why it should matter, he wasn't in the mood nor was he patient enough to think about. He didn't want to figure Elizabeth Webber out by brooding silently while watching her like a furtive stalker from the doorway to her apartment; he wanted to get to know her by simply spending some time with her, by talking to her, by letting her get to know him. "I don't know much about art," he announced, progressing his way into the studio while having to stifle a deep, rumbling fit of laughter as he watched her jump in place, splash paint on her face, and nearly knock over her easel and the wet piece of art resting on it all because he had startled her, "but I like that….what you're working on."

"It's the Port Charles skyline at night from the rooftop of the hotel," she replied automatically and instinctively, a robotic answer to an unspoken question. Shaking her head slightly to clear away the clouds of confusion and chaos obscuring her common sense and blurring her grasp on the situation, she asked, "what are you doing here, Jason, and, more importantly, how the hell did you get in?"

"How I got in is not important. You don't want to know."

"Don't tell me what I do and don't want," she snapped at him, holding the paintbrush that still in her hand out as if it were a menacing weapon. "You don't know me, and you sure as hell don't get to tell me what to feel or think."

"You're right, I'm sorry," he hastily apologized, disguising his smirk of amusement by rubbing the stubble on his jaw. He was still the master. They had been talking for less than a minute, and he had already managed to annoy her and make that infuriatingly arousing hellcat temper of hers make itself known. Deciding to play with fire, he explained, "I let myself in."

"With what," she questioned, "and do not even try to tell me you used your credit card like they do on TV, because I already know that doesn't work."

"And where were you trying to break into, Webber?"

"You think you're cute, don't you," she asked rhetorically, but he still shrugged his shoulders in an evasive, vague gesture of response. "You think that you can turn the tables on me, redirect both the question and my concentration and get the spotlight off of yourself. Well, I'm here to tell you that it's not going to work, so either tell me how you got into my apartment or I'm calling the cops."

"I'd be gone before they even picked up their order of jelly donuts from the bakery," he dismissed her threats, "but, because you're so adorable when you're angry, I'll answer your question anyway." When she glared at him and cocked her hip in a silent promise of not backing down, he couldn't hold back his laughter for a second time, but the sounds of his amusement only served to increase her ire, the pink flush of fury coloring her cheeks making Jason wonder what other parts of her body he could make blush if he got her angry enough. With one last appraising, appreciative glance in her direction, he finally replied, "I used my lock picks."

"That still doesn't tell me why the hell you're here. After all, didn't we agree to never voluntarily see each other again?"

"I find myself in the possession of a new coat," he taunted, removing the black fabric from his shoulder and attractively presenting it to her, "but, unfortunately, I have nothing to go with it. So, I thought I'd stop by and see if you could help me out."

"Very funny, Morgan," the young artist refused to laugh at his antics or his rare attempt with humor. "Why didn't you just ask Brenda to give it to Lucy? She would have seen to it that the jacket got back to me." Before he could reply, she cut him off, waving a thin, porcelain hand in an effort to silence him. "You know what, on second thought, I don't care why you did what you did. Just hang it up by the door on your way out. I appreciate you bringing it back to me. Now, can you leave so I can get back to work?"

"That's it?"

She had already turned her back to him to continue her painting, but his question made her twist around in place to regard him once again. "What else do you want – a medal of honor for one not-so-shitty deed of goodwill, a parade down Main Street on your behalf so that the town can celebrate your benevolence, the Noble Peace Prize? I already said thank you…"

"No, you didn't," he interrupted her. "You told me that you appreciated me returning your coat, but you never said thank you."

"Well then, I just did."

"Come on, Elizabeth," he cajoled, a disarmingly dangerous, seductive, and charming smile lighting up his normally stoic face, "can't we at least try to be friends? Where's that warm, funny girl I got to know last night? Where's that talented woman I read about from the file your friend Emily brought me this afternoon that made me want to spend time getting to know her and protect her in the same breath?"

"She seems to turn into an antagonistic bitch whenever you're within five feet of her," the brunette replied with a derisive shrug of her shoulders. "You just seem to be able to push my buttons like no one else."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Jason pointed out with a smug smirk, "because, if I remember last night correctly and, trust me, I do, they're very nice buttons indeed." He took a step closer to her when she begrudgingly laughed at his teasing remark. "You know what I think we both need," he pressed, further closing the distance between them when she simply tilted her head in wonder and waited for him to continue. "I think we need to relax and let go of all the tension, sexual or otherwise, that's built up between us."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Go for a ride with me," the bodyguard urged, holding out his hand in silent invitation.

His breath nearly caught in his throat when Elizabeth's eyes lit up from within, the sudden joy and excitement his suggestion brought to her illuminating her exquisite countenance. "You mean, on your bike?"

"So, I take it you read a file on me, too," he remarked, pleased with the revelation. "Yes, on my bike….unless someone stole it while I was up here talking to you."

"It should be okay," the young artist joked while finally taking his hand and letting him guide her towards her still open doorway. "You normally get a twenty minute grace period. The criminals around here aren't so good at what they do, nor are they the quickest thieves, hence while they're still living here and not in a more wealthy part of town."

"Well, would you look at this," the blonde haired man quipped, surprising her further by wrapping a muscled arm around her trim and petite waist, "we're laughing together instead of at each other. See, we've practically got this whole friendship thing down already."

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself there, Morgan," Elizabeth chided him good-naturedly. "The Geneva Convention wasn't concluded after one conversation, and I doubt that we've come to a final peace agreement that quickly either." He nodded his head in concurrence but said nothing. Changing the subject, she asked, "so, where are you taking me anyway?"

"Somewhere that you will see an even better view of the Port Charles skyline than the one we got last night on the rooftop of the hotel. I thought you might want another perspective for your painting."

She regarded him closely before responding, obviously weighing his words. "Okay," she finally agreed. Neither of them said anything else, but, by the time they made it outside and to his still un-vandalized motorcycle, her body was leaning a little closer to his, and their steps were in time with one another as if they had walked as one for many millenniums instead of mere minutes.

As they climbed onto his bike, Elizabeth wearing the helmet he had handed her, he started the machine, letting it roar to life, but, before they were even out of the parking lot and onto the road, the steady hum of the bike had been replaced with the brunette beauty's squeals of laughter and glee as she yelled and screamed from behind him. He realized that she not only enjoyed being on his motorcycle; she loved it, and, in that moment, Jason also realized he might not only be able to like her; he might be able to fall in love with her as well, but, surprisingly, the thought didn't scare him. Instead, it offered him a rush of exhilaration and a flood of excitement more potent and more powerful than any ride on his bike had ever been able to offer him. Elizabeth Webber, personal assistant to Lucy Coe, aspiring artist, and masquerading temptress, was adrenaline personified.

"This is….this view is amazing," Elizabeth breathed out, her gaze never straying from the sight before them. "I've never been up here before. What is this place called? How did you find it? Is it open to the public or are we trespassing, because, I've got to tell you, this vista is worth a night in the big house."

"Whoa, slow down there, Midge. I'm not used to you being so chatty while you're excited. One question at a time, please."

"Do you have to turn everything into a joke about sex?"

While thinking about her question, he tilted his head back and looked up at the sky for a moment. Finally, satisfied with his response, he locked his eyes with hers once again and folded his arms across his chest. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Sadly, that doesn't surprise me," the young artist quipped, finally turning around to face him. "So, one question at a time, huh? Let's start with what is this place called?"

"You were pretty close before when you referred to the view as a vista."

Moving towards a bench, Elizabeth sat down and patted the space beside her to insinuate that she wanted him to join her. "What do you mean?"

"They call this Vista Point."

"It's a fitting name. I can't believe I've never heard of it before though," she exclaimed, the bewilderment evident in her voice. "I've lived here since my freshman year of college, and no one's even mentioned it in passing."

"I don't think too many people realize this place is out here," Jason responded, shrugging his shoulders for the lack of a better answer. "It's kind of out of the way, and the cliff roads are definitely not the most popular streets around town. I think that's why I like it so much; it's secluded."

"Everything's secluded about you, Morgan," the blue eyed brunette realized, observing him closely. "You live inside a virtual fortress, secured and locked away from the rest of the world, you don't socialize with the general public unless Miss Barrett forces you to, and you talk about yourself even less than you smile and that's saying something."

"I'm not that interesting."

"Ha," she returned as a challenge. "Try selling that line to someone else, because I'm not buying."

He smirked at her. "Oh, so you're interested in me?"

"Again the remarks with the double meanings – can't you just take what I say for face value and quit looking for an invitation for more?"

"Alright, alright, Webber," he appeased her. "I didn't mean to get your granny panties in a bunch."

"I think we both know that I don't wear granny panties."

"Point taken," he agreed, "but now who's referring to our sexcapades?"

"Get back on topic," the assistant snapped her fingers. "You claim that you're not interesting to other people."

"I'm not," Jason argued. "If I was, people would ask me more questions, and they don't."

"Perhaps they're a little put off by the block of concrete your face usually resembles," she suggested. He tilted his head to concede the point to her but said nothing in argument. Narrowing her gaze, she leveled her deep, bottomless blue eyes upon him. "Are you telling me that you'll answer any of my questions as long as I ask them?"

"Try me."

"Been there, done that, and, despite your prickly personality, you weren't bad," Elizabeth teased him. "Now, tell me this, what made you start driving a motorcycle?"

"I see how it is," he returned her taunting. "You're only talking to me because of my bike."

"Chicks dig your ride, Morgan. Face it, it's the only thing you really have to offer."

"Oh, let me assure you, I have a whole hell of a lot more to offer, and, you, Shorty, have only just started sampling what I can do." She went to protest, to continue their verbal banter, but he stopped her by suddenly turning serious and addressing her query. "I got my first Harley when I was eighteen. Brenda was going to give the whole modeling thing a try, I didn't want to have anything to do with my family, so, as soon as we graduated from high school, we hit the road together. I went with her both to make sure that she wasn't hurt or taken advantage of and to escape from my crazy relatives. The bike was the cheapest form of transportation, and, because my parents absolutely hated the idea, it was one final way for me to rebel against their wishes."

"Are you telling me that Brenda Barrett, international fashion model and media darling, used to ride on the back of your hog?"

"Don't let her prissy exterior fool you," he warned. "She still has the leather chaps and riding jacket in the back of her closet. However, I don't think even she yelled and screamed as loud as you did."

"Yeah," Elizabeth cringed, "sorry about that. I'm surprised you can even hear me right now."

"I'm used to blocking out the sound of perky brunettes."

"No, I'm serious," she pressed. "I didn't even think about how my piercing shrieks of laughter were probably giving you a headache. It was just….so much fun."

Jason surprised her by reaching out and grasping of her hand. "I'm glad you liked it," he reassured, thoroughly ending her apology and creating an awkward moment for the two of them to wade through.

Clearing her throat, the artist tried to lighten the mood. "I bet this view," she motioned towards the cliffs, "is just as breathtaking during the day, too."

"It is."

"I'm going to have to come here sometime when I have an afternoon off and a new, empty sketchpad to fill. I'd love to do a whole series of pieces based upon the different times of day and the different seasons," she shared, offering him a small smile when their gazes met before looking back out at the city. "You'll have to give me directions, so I don't get lost trying to find my way back up here on my own."

"Or I could just bring you," the blonde haired bodyguard suggested. "We can make a day of it – go for a ride in the morning, spend the afternoon here while you sketch, and then, I don't know, play some pool once it gets dark."

Expression wide and searching, Elizabeth dared him. "You wouldn't be asking me out, would you, Morgan?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On what you want," he finished, answering her. "Do you want me to ask you out?"

"What I want," the assistant thought about his question, standing up from her seat on the bench and pacing the length in front of it, "is dinner." Suddenly animated, she turned towards Jason. "Are you hungry, because I could really go for a ridiculously greasy and unhealthy calzone from this family owned Italian diner that's a few blocks from my place. We could stop by and pick a couple up on our way back."

"I think you're the one inviting me on a date now, Webber," he teased, joining her by standing up, "but dinner I can do."

"My treat," she offered.

"Oh, I don't think so. I never let the girl pay," the security expert argued. "So, I'll tell you what – I'll buy dinner, and you can be dessert."

"You're doing it again, Morgan; you're trying to get me into bed."

"I'm dedicated," he excused his flirtatious behavior. "I see what I want, and I go after it."

"So, you want me?"

"Midge, the entire straight male population of the western world wants you," Jason returned. When she simply blushed at his compliment but didn't chastise him, he smirked in victory and continued. "So, while we're eating, what do you want to do? Should we pick up some movies on our way back to your place?"

"I have a better idea," Elizabeth announced animatedly, dragging him back towards his bike. Quirking her eyebrow in what could only be described as a decidedly mischievous way, she asked, "how do you feel about a little payback?"

Sitting close together on her small couch, Jason had a hard time concentrating on the task at hand. It had been difficult enough when they were seated across from each other and simply eating. Somehow he had managed to not drop any food onto his shirt, but, now that they were working together on her laptop, Elizabeth's legs folded up underneath her while her right, bare knee kept brushing up against his jean clad one, he could focus on nothing but the tiny, teasing freckle on the inside of her left ankle. He wanted to kiss the small sun-induced blemish that was taunting him, he wanted to remove the shorts and sweatshirt pajama combination she was wearing to look for any other beauty marks he could brush his lips against, he wanted to forget the payback she was so determined to give their best friends and, instead, thank them for their efforts by wrapping her small, supple body around his, once again, and making love with her for as many times as they possibly could in one night.

"Almost done," her energetic voice interrupted his arousing and indecent fantasy, "but, first, I'm going to need you to answer some questions for me about Brenda."

At the moment, his best friend was the last thing Jason wanted to talk about, but, besides a few innocently veiled remarks, the young artist had done nothing but act as his platonic friend the whole evening, and he was afraid of what her reaction would be just then to his come-ons. "Like what?"

"How old is she?"

"Well, legally, she's thirty-two, like me," the blonde haired bodyguard answered, "but she tells everyone that she's only twenty-eight."

"Thirty-two it is," Elizabeth announced, smirking impishly, "after all, this is retaliation, and there's no such thing as niceties or favors in war."

"Remind me to never piss you off, Webber; you're brutal."

"Oh, don't kid yourself," she quipped, laughing at him. "You have the ability to make me angrier quicker than anyone else I've ever met before. I just have to deal with your wickedness differently than I do everyone else's."

"Punishment, eh," the security expert questioned with an intrigued quirk of his eyebrows, "now you're just getting kinky on me, Midge."

"You wish," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Should I put down that Brenda's a fashion model or not?"

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it," Jason pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're her bodyguard. I wasn't sure you would want her to have that kind of exposure even if we are doing this to pay her back for setting us up."

That surprised him. "Thank you," he said sincerely, "for considering me and my job and putting my convenience ahead of your vendetta."

"I'm not a selfish bitch, Morgan," the personal assistant commented softly, turning her attention away from the computer screen to regard him. "You might frustrate me, but I would never want anything bad to happen to you or Brenda."

"I feel the same about you, too, Shorty."

"So," she prompted.

"Put down that she's an aspiring actress," he suggested. "At thirty-two and still aspiring to a career, she should attract some real winners, and it's pretty much the truth since she's starring in her first movie soon."

She giggled at his comment, further stroking his ego, for a moment while she typed, only stopping to voice another question. "What about her hobbies and interests? What does she like to do?"

"Brenda likes to shop," the bodyguard offered. "She enjoys traveling, decorating, giving people makeovers even when they don't want one, waxing…"

"No woman enjoys waxing, Jason."

"Barrett does," he argued. "She threatened to take me with her if I didn't go to the party with you."

"Aw, the sign of a true friend," the blue eyed, brunette teased him, giggling again when he playfully glowered at her. "Okay, how about this," she wondered out loud. "I put down that she enjoys doing anything that involves spending obscene amounts of money."

He shrugged. "That's pretty accurate."

"Alright then," she sighed, setting the computer aside and stifling a small yawn, "that means we're finished. Do you want to check her account and handle the potential suitors on your own, or do you want me to do it for you?"

"I can do it." Watching her closely, he noticed how her long lashes were fluttering lower and lower against her soft, round cheeks. "Are you tired?"

"I'm fine," she lied, "and you're just trying to get me into bed."

"No, I'm not," Jason argued, shocking her by standing up. "If you're really tired, I'll go home."

"Just like that?"

Angling his head to the side, he narrowed his gaze at her. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you'd fight a little harder to spend the night," she explained. "I didn't think you'd go all noble on me and offer to leave before I threatened to kick you out."

"I'm trying a different approach."

"Well stop it," she ordered, rising from the sofa as well. "I like the Jason Morgan who is so confident he makes me want to knock him down a few pegs."

Grinning boldly, he teased her, "you like me, Webber?"

"You might want to shut up while you're still ahead of the game," she threatened, taking another tentative step towards him and suddenly becoming shy and demure. Tucking a stray, errant lock of hair behind her ear, she gazed up at him. "Do you want to spend the night?" Before he could respond, she continued, "and don't think you're getting laid tonight, because last night was a fluke, and it'll take more than one meal to get me to sleep with you again."

"I never thought you were that easy," the bodyguard defended himself, following her into the curtained off portion of her studio apartment. "We'll go on a real date first before having sex for a second time."

She stopped walking, almost making him plow right into her back before she swirled around to confront him. "Just for being so presumptuous," she glowered, poking him in the stomach, "we're waiting at least two weeks, and I don't care if we go on fourteen dates during that time. You're still not getting any."

"That's okay," he accepted her declaration. "I can be a gentleman and wait for as long as my girlfriend wants me to."

"I'm not your girlfriend," Elizabeth corrected him.

"My lover," he suggested; she snorted in disagreement. "Fine, what do you call what's happening between us?"

"We're friends," the young artist decreed.

"Just friends?"

"Fine," she stomped her foot and huffed in frustration. "We're eventually going to be friends with benefits."

"No," Jason argued, "we're dating."

"Fat chance of that, Morgan," she scoffed quietly under her breath. "Hey," she called out shocked, immediately starting to laugh when he lifted her up and, quite easily, tossed her over his shoulder as he carried her into her improvised bedroom, "what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm putting my girlfriend to bed," he answered arrogantly. "You know, you become entirely too obstinate when you're suffering from a lack of sleep."

"Put me down," she ordered, reaching down and, at first, slapping his butt before escalating her attack and pinching him when the inadequate blows of her open palms weren't effective enough. "This is not funny, Jason."

"Or maybe you just become completely uncooperative when you're trying to deny your feelings for me," he continued, ignoring her directions.

Dropping her on top of the unmade bed, he loomed over her. "And what feelings would those be," she wondered out loud, challenging him to respond.

"You're falling in love with me, Midge," he retorted confidently. His face was void of any teasing or humor, "just as I've falling for you."

Abruptly subdued and serious herself, the petite pixy of a brunette remarked, "this is all happening so fast."

"Do you want to slow down?"

Her only response was to hold out her hand, an unspoken request for him to join her on the bed. Blanketing her body, Jason braced his weight on his forearms while lowering his mouth to delicately taste hers, but the embrace quickly intensified into more than either of them intended.

Pulling away breathless, Elizabeth stated, "fast works for us."

Jason smiled lazily, enjoying the trust he could hear in her tone and her readiness to refer to them as one identity. "But we're also good at nice and slow."

With that said, he stood up on his knees, pulled off his shirt, released the button and zipper on his jeans to remove them, and, once he was just dressed in his boxer-briefs, laid back down onto the bed, drawing her into his arms and, almost effortlessly, closing his eyes in contentment.

"Goodnight, Midge."

"Night, Morgan," she returned on a sigh, already falling asleep.

They had the whole next day to discuss their new relationship, what she wanted to label them, and her ridiculous idea that they would wait another two weeks before making love together again, but, for the night, he was simply satisfied with getting to hold her against him as they both slept. After all, they might be dating, but it didn't have to be at a high speed; the connection they shared would not be easily set aside, and they had all the time in the world.


End file.
